


Wait For Me

by Littlefeather



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Childhood Trauma, F/M, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Married Life, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Wartime Romance, Wedding, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-13 11:25:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 83,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2148969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littlefeather/pseuds/Littlefeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern A/U Sansa Stark is a nursing student working as a coffee house barista when she meets a mysterious scarred man who she just can't get off of her mind. Willowfaerie82 challenged me to write a modern A/U and it's just what I need to clear my writer's block. This will be a short one. :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WillowFaerie82](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowFaerie82/gifts).



He had come into The Daily Grind coffee house on Sansa’s first official day as a barista. His order was the easiest she had filled all day: black coffee.

Unfortunately she only managed to blurt out an incoherent “Okay,” and silently cursed herself for failing to greet him properly and offer him the day’s special.  

As she began preparing his order, Sansa realized she had forgot to ask him for his name for the cup.

“Your name, sir?” She felt her a rush of warmth to her cheeks as he leaned down towards her.

“I’m no sir,” the man growled low as he followed her gaze to the tattoo of three dogs on his forearm. There were other letters and numbers there as well, which Sansa did not recognize.  He tipped her chin up to meet his eyes, not ungently. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“I-I’m new in town.” Sansa stammered, her cheeks flushing hotter by the moment.

The man chuckled low. “You don't say?

"I'm so sorry, this is my first day and I'm nervous."

"And?" He eyed her.

"And what?"

"Aren't you going to tell me your name first?" He leaned in closer still. "Turnabout's fair play, you know."

The huge, muscled man smirked as he watched her mouth fall open. "I'm - I'm Sansa." She finally squeaked out with a smile. "I need yours for the cup."

"Just put down the Hound, girl.” He huffed, his smirk falling.  Dark grey eyes peeked over his sunglasses and seemed to linger on her lips before he ducked his head once more and moved on to the cashier. 

 _The Hound? What kind of nickname is that?_   _His Scottish accent is so hot; maybe it's a common term over there,_ Sansa pondered as he hurried to the nearest corner;  she had never met anyone from Scotland and it made him all the more interesting in Sansa’s view.

For as long as she lived in Kentucky (which admittedly had only been less than a month) she never heard anyone speak with a Scottish accent, or any accent other than the regional drawl, for that matter.

For some reason, Sansa felt mysteriously drawn to him, though she could not say why. The mysterious Hound occupied her thoughts the rest of her shift and throughout her evening classes at the Kentucky School of Medicine. So preoccupied was she that Sansa could not focus on her homework that night. Instead, she spent the evening staring at the blank notebook in front her and daydreaming about her very huge, very unusual customer.

The man had a most imposing demeanor and muscular build, and the way his jeans hung low on his hips and his Carhartt t-shirt clung to his muscular chest sent a wave of arousal through her.

He had long black hair that fell to his shoulders, obscuring her view of his face. He stood head and shoulders taller than everyone in the small shop, the man seeming to fill the tiny space with his presence. Yet, he also seemed as though he was trying not to draw attention to himself, for he never removed his sunglasses and kept his gaze fixed on the screen of his smartphone as he waited for his order.

The following day Sansa hurried to work, all the while hoping he would return the next morning so she could apologize for her lack of manners.

Sure enough, the so-called Hound was there at the same time; it was then that Sansa understood why he tried to hide behind his hair and glasses: gruesome burn scars covered one side of his face, twisting his flesh in a most alarming manner.

Unable to control herself, Sansa leaned in and carefully studied his scarring. It did not appear to be a new wound, and she wondered how he acquired it. The man watched in disgust as her eyes traveled to his temple, across his chin and down to the corner of his mouth.

“Like what you see?”

“Oh, forgive me for staring, but I couldn’t help notice that-“ Sansa stammered, spilling the coffee she was pouring in her haste to explain. Would she never stop offending the poor man?

The lead barista Margaery cast her a withering look.

The Hound snorted at her, his lip curling into a wicked grin.

“That’s it, chirp your courtesies, little bird. Chirp, chirp.” He made a fluttering gesture with his hands.

Sansa scowled at him then.

“Do I frighten you so much girl?” The Hound asked seriously.

“No, it isn't that at all. Forgive my rudeness.  I was studying the scars on your face because I'm going to school here to become a nurse. Eventually I'd like to work at the burn unit at Doctors Hospital in Augusta.”

The smug look on the man’s face suddenly fell. The scarring around his mouth was cracked and glistening.

“You look to be in pain. Is it so? Are you still receiving treatment?” Sansa asked softly, her fingers reaching forward to touch him.

Margaery glared at her from across the floor, where she was helping her brother Loras pick a gourmet blend.

“Sansa, don’t grill our customers, please,” came her sing-song request. “You must forgive our newest employee, sir.”

“Don’t fucking apologize for her. She told the truth, which is more than I expect from anyone else in here.” He glared until Margaery turned away, then offered Sansa a slight grin, the movement twisting his scars further. “No, I’m not receiving treatment and yes, it fucking hurts like hell sometimes.”

That much Sansa could see with her own two eyes. The crevices around his mouth cracked and wept as he spoke.

She longed to know how he got such awful burns. _Was it a car accident? A mishap at a gas station? He must have been very young when it happened. There were several hospitals in the south that could help him._

She bit her lip to keep from asking, and so she turned to look at Margaery, whose shocked expression made Sansa want to laugh out loud.

“Well if you’re interested, I’d like to help you. Here, this is on the house, Hound.” Sansa smiled her first genuine smile at him as she handed him a Venti black coffee. She then gave him a small container. “It's a lemoncake. My favorite."

The Hound glowered at her. “You needn’t give me shit because you feel sorry for me, lass.”

“Not at all,” Sansa schooled her face into a bright smile. “It is a reward for being my first customer.”

Sansa watched his jaw tighten as he took it from her, their fingers touching slightly as he did so.

“The name’s Sandor, Sandor Clegane, little bird, not the Hound.” He stood there, waiting for what Sansa did not know; the people behind him began to fidget impatiently but she didn’t care.

 _He told me his name!_ “I’m glad to meet you. I'm Sansa Stark.” She answered, trying hard to keep a cool demeanor.

“Many thanks, Sansa Stark.” He muttered before hurrying out of the coffee house.

Sansa did not see the grin on Sandor’s face once he was outside, the man tracing his finger over the dog Sansa had drawn on the lid with a balloon above his head that read “Woof!”

* * *

They went on this way for several weeks, the two sharing banter and Sandor slowly revealing bits of information about himself, until one day,  he did not show up at the usual time. He did not come the next day either, or the next, and Sansa did not see him again for nine months.

Sansa spent the time wondering, worrying, and coming up with all kinds of scenarios to explain his absence. Could she have offended him without knowing it? He didn’t seem to mind her openness but what else could it be? She hoped he was not ill with an infection, for having open wounds was very dangerous to one such as him.

One day in late September, Sandor walked through the door, and the sight of him brought a great sense of relief over her. The first thing she noticed was Sandor’s hair was now shorn close to his head. He looked even more muscular than before, his huge frame outfitted in brown and tan military fatigues. When their eyes met, his mouth quirked into the same grin he gave her when she had told him her name.

“Sandor Clegane,” Sansa happily clasped her hands together. Her obvious eagerness caused Margaery to roll her eyes. “I...I am so relieved to see you! I wondered what happened to you. I hope I did not cause you offense.”

“No,” he removed his hat. “No, little bird. You’re as sweet as the lemon cake you gave me.” Sandor unconsciously licked his lips as he allowed his gaze to roam over her figure.  

Flattered, Sansa blushed and lowered her eyes; she was glad she took the time to iron her new fuchsia dress that morning.

“I was deployed with my unit a few days after I last came in here.” His words sounded forced, hollow and his normally keen eyes wore a somewhat blank expression.

“And where were you sent?” Sansa asked while preparing his usual order. Her heart fluttered in her chest as she raised her eyes to his: deep grey, smoldering and staring directly at her with all his might _. I feel as though he knows what I look like in my slip._

“Sansa, we do not grill our customers.” Margaery shook her head, breaking Sansa’s reverie. “You might be a college girl but you’re a slow learner.”

Ignoring her, Sandor ducked his head and muttered, “Afghanistan. Kandahar, to be exact.”

A chill moved through Sansa, and she could not help but gasp audibly. “Truly? You went to war?”

“It’s not supposed to still be a war; it’s a drawdown, they call it, but yeah,” Sandor shrugged once more. “They can call it whatever the fuck they want but it’s still war, you best believe that.”

“I do believe that,” Sansa answered sadly. “I...I did not know you were in the military.” _That was stupid_ , she berated herself. She had only known him three weeks-she knew virtually nothing about the man. “I would have written to you. Welcome home.” Inwardly she cringed as she waited for him to speak.

If Sandor thought her words foolish, he didn’t let on.

“The Army 101st airborn, 1st Brigade Combat Team is where I serve. My time is up in a year hence.” He cleared his throat. “Here in town I work for a construction outfit that gives me time off to serve. I haven’t gone home yet. I had to come here first and see if you still worked here.”

“Well, I do,” she grinned, curtseying and holding out her arms to display her Daily Grind apron. “Not for long, though. I will get my nursing certificate in the winter and then I will have to intern. I’m not sure I’ll be able to manage both.”

“Oh, aye.” He fumbled with his hat.

Sansa could see it was a strain on him to be in a crowded place.

The line behind Sandor grew longer by the minute.

A sudden boldness overtook her. “Sandor, would you please come back in three hours? My shift ends then. I would like to hear more about your trip, if you don’t mind.” She reached over and placed his coffee in his hand, offering a gentle squeeze on his massive wrist before pulling away. “Perhaps we could go somewhere less crowded.”

Stunned, his eyes darted down to her hand. “Aye, I’ll see you then.” Sandor paused, swallowing hard as he moved on to the cashier. “Mayhap we could sit by the water for a bit.”

“I’d like that,” Sansa beamed, handing him a piece of lemoncake. “Here, this is my favorite dessert. And please, you needn’t pay...it’s on the house.”

“For fuck’s sake, what’s a man got to do to get coffee around here? Dress up as some soldier boy?” A young man outfitted in an Armani suit huffed loudly. “Sell it in the street on your own time, Red, I’ve got clients to meet!”

Nervously Sansa went back to pouring coffee, while Sandor turned sharply and glared at the businessman.

“Shut the fuck up, pretty boy, before I shut your mouth for you." He clutched the man's lapels. "Apologize to the lady.”

Fearfully the man stammered out an apology, after which Sandor settled the man back on his feet.

“I’ve known your bloody type my whole life.” He sneered as he flipped the man’s suit lapels derisively while bringing his face in closer still. “Useless. You think your money and your fancy cars and your high paying career means you’re entitled to something more than a man like me. Well bugger that, and bugger you. You speak like that to her again and I’ll cut your tongue out.”  

Sandor then stalked out the door.

Startled, Sansa stared after him with her mouth agape, while Margaery hurried over to her.

“That’s enough for one day. Go home, Sansa,” Margaery hissed into her ear. “If anyone says anything, I’ll tell them he just got home from the war. And make sure your _boyfriend_ learns some manners before he comes in again, will you?”

Without a word, Sansa took off her apron and left the coffee shop, brushing past the man who insulted her in her haste. She caught up with Sandor just as he was about to climb onto the back of his Harley. 

“Sandor, Sandor...wait!” She waved after him, hurrying as fast as she could manage in her platform sandals.

Frowning, Sandor turned off the engine and removed his helmet.

“What happened, Sansa? You get fired?” He put down the kickstand. “I’ll go back in there and bloody well-”

“No, no,” she gasped out. “I’m not fired. Margaery sent me home for the day and I’m glad she did.” Sansa could not help but beam at him as she spoke, her cheeks flushing as brightly as her dress. “We could go by the water now, if you don’t mind, or maybe grab a bite to eat.”

Sandor stared at her for a moment, and just when Sansa thought she had made a terrible mistake, he nodded slowly. “Aye, we could. Let me go by my place and get squared away first and then we can be on our way.”

“Oh-okay. I guess I could wait here, or-” Sansa wasn’t sure how she felt about going to his place, or if he even meant for her to go with him. She felt her cheeks flush once more.

Sandor frowned slightly and then made a noise that might have been a laugh.

“You’d rather wait here than go to my place?” His eyes were focused on her lips again; slowly, he reached out and brushed the back of his hand against her cheek. “You blush so easily, lass. Sure I don’t frighten you?”

“No,” she whispered shyly and then shuffled closer to him. “I am not afraid of you…I like you.” Sandor stared at her with such intensity that Sansa made up her mind at once. “And I’d very much like to see your place.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Get on then. Don't be shy.” Sandor grinned his half smile at her while placing his helmet over her head.

Sansa methodically tucked her hair in as carefully as she could and then gingerly straddled the bike, struggling to maintain a ladylike pose in her dress and heels as she did so.

As Sandor watched her, Sansa couldn’t help think he very much resembled a hungry dog staring at a piece of meat.

“Are you sure it’s safe for you to ride without a helmet?” She said to break the silence. “In school we learned it’s the leading cause of traumatic brain injury in young men...“ Sansa’s words faded beneath a swell of  Sandor’s laughter and the roar of the engine.

He shook his head at her. “Little bird, I’ve been at war for the last nine months. A trip around the block without a helmet is the safest thing I’ve done in a long time.”

Feeling foolish, she lowered her eyes sadly.

Sandor tipped her chin back up to him. “It won’t kill me,” he rasped more seriously, the mocking tone in his voice disappearing as quickly as it came. “Don’t fret, Sansa, I’ve got another at my place besides.”

Smiling once more, Sansa absently nodded, the young woman momentarily distracted by the way the motorcycle vibrated beneath her when Sandor revved the engine.

“Hold on to me tight now and lean with the bike, understand?” Sandor raised an eyebrow at her.

“Y - yes, I think so,” Sansa answered while cautiously wrapping her arms around his waist.

When she was situated comfortably, Sandor slowly pulled away from the curb. As Sandor increased his speed with the flow of traffic, Sansa tightened her hold on him; her hands found their way up to his powerfully built chest and soon her breasts were pressed flat against his back. _My mother would scold me terribly if she saw me now…_

One massive arm reached behind her, grabbed her thigh, and abruptly drug her closer still, causing Sansa to yelp in surprise.

“Wouldn’t want you to fall off,” he growled low and licked his lips at her.

Blushing furiously, Sansa frowned at him, but he could not be shamed by her scolding look.

Grinning mischievously, Sandor gave her a wink before setting the bike in motion once more.

The position she now found herself in seemed most inappropriate and very immodest but Sansa was too afraid of falling off to protest.

Pedestrians walking by stared and glared at her by turns, or so it seemed to Sansa, so self-conscious was she to be straddling a motorcycle while wrapping the entirety of her body around a man she barely knew.

When they stopped at a red light, Sandor glanced over his shoulder.

“Close your mouth lass or else you’ll catch bugs.”

Quickly Sansa did as Sandor bid her, the girl swallowing hard as Sandor’s muscular back pushed against her breasts while her thighs clamped onto either side of his hips, for the feeling had Sansa flustered, and it shamed her to admit, very aroused in no time.

At the roar of the Harley’s engine, many people came out and waved to Sandor as they passed. He waved in kind and often held up a “v” for victory in return, to which he received many cheers of delight.

Sansa noticed an abundance of American flags decorated the homes along the main street and still more once they turned back into the neighborhood.

“Are there many service men and women who live in this neighborhood?”

“Aye, almost all the families here have active members in the armed forces.”

“Are they all in your…division?” Yes she would settle on the word division, for Sansa knew very little about the military.

“Some, not all.”

Some of the homes were also decorated with a blue star flag that Sansa did not recognize and a few had a gold star flag.

“What does the different colored star flags mean?” She asked, fumbling with the chin strap, which dug painfully into her skin. “I see a lot of blue ones in the windows but there are a few gold ones as well.”

Sandor put the brakes on the motorcycle and turned sharply toward her, his body suddenly stiffening beneath her hands.

“Don’t you know?”

“No, I grew up in a very remote enclave of Alaska called Winterfell. There were very few servicemen there.”

Sansa felt so stupid she wished the ground would swallow her up as she waited for his reply.

But Sandor did not scold her, as she expected.

After a moment, he wiped his face.

"The blue star flag means it’s the home to parents whose child is serving in the military. The gold star means their child paid the ultimate price.”

Sansa felt a sharp shudder move through Sandor as he spoke. Some instinct made her pull him closer to her, and she pressed her cheek against his back. Sandor shuddered once more at her movement but Sansa only pulled him closer still. They remained that way for a while, holding each other in silence.

Sansa felt like she should say something, though she had no idea what words might comfort him. Surely he had lost friends in the war. Were there _any_ words that would help? She doubted it, for when she lost her parents and brother, no amount of comforting words, quotes from various religious tomes or good wishes seemed to ease the jagged wound grief had cut through her heart.

Instead, Sansa squeezed him tightly, willing him to feel her concern, willing him to find comfort in her. It seemed her embrace was enough, for Sandor inhaled deeply and rested his large hands over her own, pressing them lightly against his chest.

Before long he started the bike once more and muttered something that might have been, “Many thanks” but Sansa couldn’t be sure.

The streets wound back into a densely wooded neighborhood. The houses were modest but well kept, with lawns of deep Kentucky bluegrass.

“It’s pretty here,” she shouted into his ear.

He nodded. “My place is up that hill, on the left,” Sandor gestured, and Sansa decided she would ask no more questions if it meant he would steer the motorcycle with one hand on the windy roads through the neighborhood.

Soon they stopped at a small, very old white wood paneled home that had a wraparound deck and a sloped driveway leading to what appeared to be a workshop in the back. An old Ford truck sat beside the house.

“It’s so lovely here,” Sansa smiled brightly at him while fumbling with the chin strap. “I haven’t gone exploring into the hills around here yet.”

“Best not, either, unless you have someone big and strong with you.”

Sansa stared at him blankly-did he mean someone like him? _Did Sandor mean he would be willing to take me hiking?_ The idea thrilled her.

Before she answered, he rasped: “Here, let me do it, lass.”

Sansa did not realize she had been tugging on the helmet chinstrap.

As he undid the clasp, Sandor never took his eyes off her face, the man staring at her in the same heated way in which he regarded her in the coffee shop, the look sending pleasurable tingles up her spine.

When she realized he had freed her of the helmet and still she had not spoken, Sansa felt her cheeks redden. “Thank you.  I’ve never been on a motorcycle before. It was fun.”

Sandor merely chuckled and put down the kickstand. Standing felt awkward to her after sitting on the bike, clinging to Sandor for dear life. She could only imagine what she must look like, all frowsy and windblown.

Self-consciously, Sansa laughed and shook out her long hair, running her fingers through the length to smooth out the tangles.

It felt good to have the fresh air around her once more. Pine and cedar wood perfumed the air, a scent Sansa had not enjoyed since leaving her home town, and so she closed her eyes and drew a deep breath.

“Rain’s coming,” she announced as she caught the unmistakable smell of humidity in the air.

“Aye,” Sansa heard him reply. Suddenly she felt his eyes on her once more, and turning toward him, Sansa caught Sandor staring at her.  

He did not look away, though, and continued staring as she approached him. Sniffing, Sandor cursed under his breath, turned and walked toward the house. 

Smiling shyly, Sansa slowly followed him. “It’s so lovely here, Sandor. The view of the forest is so pretty!”

Sandor shrugged. “I had a little money saved when my parents passed. I got sick and tired of fucking around with rent so I bought it.”

She nodded. “I know just what you mean. Paying rent isn’t so bad, but the noise and the rowdy neighbors are another story…”

Smirking, Sandor chuckled low as he unhooked his pack from the bike and threw it on the deck.

“Want to come in?”

Blushing, Sansa smiled and nodded eagerly, nervously biting her bottom lip as she did so. Sandor’s eyes at once fixated on the spot. “Careful, girl, or I might want to do that myself.” He huskily rasped.

Laughing, Sansa lowered her eyes and blushed even further as she walked inside. She felt Sandor’s hand brush over her hair and down her back as she passed, and so Sansa turned and smiled at him once more.

Inside the house was tidy, if dusty, and sparsely furnished.

“This place could use a woman’s touch,” Sansa announced with a smile.

“The house isn’t the only thing that could use a woman’s touch, lass,” Sandor growled, his eyes twinkling as he drank in her shocked expression.

Sansa didn’t know what to say to that, but part of her did want to oblige him and so she reached out and placed her hand in his own.

Apparently it was all the encouragement he needed, for Sandor gently pulled her to him and cupped her face in his hands, running his thumbs lightly over her jawline as he grinned at her.

“Relax, lass, I’m not going to ravage you.”

Sansa felt the tension release in her body at his words. She lightly rested her hands on his forearms.

“I know. I - I trust you.”

Sandor stared into her eyes while massaging her neck. “Don’t trust me _too_ far. I oughtn’t tempt myself with such a pretty thing, especially after I’ve been so long away from women.”

She barely heard him. Sighing, Sansa closed her eyes and gave in to the feel of his large hands around her, while his calloused thumbs traced rhythmic circles on her collar bone.

It had been so long since anyone touched her gently and with what Sansa felt was affection; she reveled in the feel of his hands on her body.

Her ex-fiancé Joffrey only groped her or yelled at her if she did something he deemed stupid. Sansa had broken up with him before she left Alaska.

She only agreed to marry him because her father wanted her to, and the young woman, having suspected he had something to do with the deaths of her parents and brother, immediately broke it off.

Unfortunately, that did not keep him from coming down from Washington D.C. and barging into her school.

When Sansa insisted he leave and that she would never take him back, Joffrey struck her. That had been the last straw; Sansa then got a restraining order but she had a haunting suspicion that would not deter him.

On the other hand, Sandor was so very different with her: careful, reverent, even, though for the life of her Sansa could not understand why.

Is it possible that Sandor cared for her? He came straight from his deployment to see her.  He said he _had_ to see if she still worked at the coffee shop.

No, she was being a romantic fool-it was far too soon for Sandor to feel much of anything for her. Yet she cared for him just the same and his touch only encouraged her growing affection for him.

Everything about Sandor felt so good. His hands were so relaxing and yet arousing that soon Sansa let out a soft moan of pleasure.

Clearing his throat, Sandor abruptly moved away from her.

“I’m going to take a shower. Make yourself comfortable. If you want a pop, there should be some in the fridge.”

Blinking, Sansa felt as though Sandor had suddenly awakened her from a dream.

“Is...is something wrong? I could rub your neck in return, if you like.”

Sandor let out a harsh bark of a laugh. “No lass. Things are starting to feel a bit _too good_ as it is. Maybe another time.”

He winked at her, and Sansa flushed scarlet at his implication.

She caught her reflection in a nearby mirror, and was startled by what she saw: despite the chilly afternoon, her pupils were dilated, her skin flushed and glistening and her breathing was coming in short gasps.

Her woman’s place was pulsating with the familiar ache of desire as well, and so Sansa squeezed her thighs together to quell her craving.

Further down the hall, she noticed Sandor had already stripped out of his clothes and was wearing only a towel as he rummaged in a nearby closet, finally settling on another towel and two rags.

Sansa knew she should look away but she just could not bring herself to do it. Sandor was far more impressive without his clothing.

His skin was covered in scars and deeply tanned as well. _He must have sat outside without his shirt when he was on a break over there,_ she mused to herself. His heavily muscled chest and sharply defined abdominals were covered in a fine sprinkling of black hair.

She wondered how he felt, how smooth his skin would be under her hands. _Is the hair covering Sandor’s body soft or coarse?_ _Surely soft,_ Sansa decided.

“Like what you see?” His deep voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

“Yes,” she answered without thinking, and with that, Sandor instantly abandoned the linen closet and came to her side.

“An honest little bird you are, and as innocent as a lamb.” Sandor drew his thumb over her lower lip. “I like the way you blush. And I like your hair,” he allowed his fingers to run through the length of her strands. “Little bird, you are irresistible to a starving dog l like me. Let me have a taste of you.”

Blushing deeply, Sansa was speechless. She smiled up at him and allowed her mind to wander further on the subject as he caressed her mouth with his thumb, wondering what it would feel like to hold him as she had on his bike without his clothing or her own, for that matter.

What would he do if she tasted his fingers or kissed his chest? Surely such intimacies were out of the question.

Sansa knew she risked offending him should she give in to her curiosity. "Would you like to kiss me?"

Nodding, he slowly took her face in his hands and brushed his scarred mouth against her own.

 _He tastes like coffee and mint_ , Sansa thought as she opened her mouth to him.

Encouraged, he pulled her deeper into his embrace, swirling his tongue against her own and gripping her hair in his hands.

His warm skin smelled of pine, sweat, wood smoke, and underneath, a decidedly unique aroma all his own that drove Sansa wild with lust.

She felt as though Sandor was devouring her but Sansa could not be made to care. She pressed her palms against his bare skin, marveling at the contrast between his soft skin and hardened muscles.

His breathing became heavy but Sandor did not stop; neither did Sansa do anything to dissuade him from going further.

His hands fell to her hips, alternating between gripping them and kneading her skin as he deepened the kiss further.

Suddenly he pulled away from her.

“Gods, woman, but you get me riled like a teenager,” he chuckled, moving away from Sansa. “Give me a minute.”

Shuffling away from him, she shyly looked at her feet.

“I’m...I’m not the kind of girl who takes things very far on the first date,” Sansa whispered by way of explanation.

She did not want him to get the wrong idea about her, despite the liberties she had allowed him.

“Not that this is a date or anything. Well, it kind of is, I guess, but anyway, that’s not the point.”

“What _is_ the point?” Sandor asked, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Tell me."

He reached out and ran a lock of her hair through his fingers as she struggled to speak. Her eyes darted down to the distinctive shape  that had emerged below his navel hidden by the towel. _Oh my, he’s…he’s…_

“Well, the point is, I’ve never done anything like this." She wrung her hands.

"You've never been kissed?" Sandor's eyes widened.

"I've kissed some, but not like...I mean, you’re the only man who has ever kissed me in such a way. I really like you and I don’t want you to get the wrong idea..." Sansa stammered, blushing heatedly as she spoke.

Sandor continued to stare at her, his eyes roving over her figure freely, the intimacy and forwardness of the gesture arousing her further.

Her woman’s place was throbbing insistently now, and so Sansa unconsciously squeezed her thighs together as she struggled to steady her growing desire and labored breathing, a movement that did not go unnoticed by Sandor.

His eyes widened once more. He laughed wickedly and pulled her closer to him.

“Might be I could help you with that,” Sandor growled into her ear before nibbling on her neck, running his tongue in slow circles over her pulse point.

A deep moan came unbidden from her throat. Embarrassed, Sansa tried to move away but Sandor tightened his hold on her upper arms.

When he returned to her eyes, she saw her own lust mirrored perfectly in his own dark gaze.

“Pretty little bird,” he breathed against her lips, kissing her with such fervency that Sansa felt dizzy. “Don’t fret, lass; I’m not going to pressure you. I know you’re a lady, if that’s what troubles you.  I like you too,  and I like the fact that you are as innocent as you look. I won’t press you for more than you want to offer.”

“Thank you,” she whispered and then stood on her toes and gently kissed him.

Suddenly Sandor sighed and abruptly turned away from her, the man veritably running into the bathroom and slamming the door behind him, leaving Sansa confused, gasping for air and entertaining the wild idea that she would very much like to join him.

_Get yourself together. You are a **lady** , you don’t do such things with men you hardly know._

Scarcely able to catch her breath, Sansa went to the kitchen sink and splashed cold water on her face and neck, then soaked a dishtowel and rubbed it over her arms and legs.

She longed to ease the steadily increasing ache between her thighs.

“Get a hold of yourself,” she hissed out loud. Sansa realized she had to find a way to distract herself before she truly degraded herself.

Looking about, Sansa noticed the place was a bit dusty, so she peeked under the sink and found a can of furniture polish, Windex and several rags.

 _I don’t think Sandor would mind if I cleaned up a bit in here while he showers._ So, Sansa set about dusting and polishing the woodwork while trying to sort her feelings for Sandor Clegane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: 
> 
> Frowsy is a word my Kentucky-born and raised grandparents would use instead of disheveled or unkempt. I'll try to include as many regional sayings as I can remember in this fic and you need only scroll to the bottom notes of each chapter for the definitions. :D


	3. Chapter 3

Sansa kicked off her platform shoes, unhooked her hosiery from her garters and stuffed them in her bag before she set to work. Vigorously she then scrubbed and polished every surface in the den, living room and sun porch before she gave the hardwood floors a thorough sweeping, working out all her frustration in the process. It did not take her very long, for she was used to cleaning quickly at the coffee shop and the house wasn’t very big.

During that time Sansa thought of Sandor and what exactly it was about the man that made her so willing and eager to put down her defenses for him. Embarrassment and heady desire filled her as she thought of his kisses and the feel of his chest against her palms. Despite his kisses and the feel of his body against her own, Sansa for the life of her could not imagine why she allowed herself to get so utterly carried away with him.

Her sister Arya had always teased her about being a goody-goody, but Sansa did not care. She wanted to save certain intimacies for her wedding night, or so she believed until today. She had never been kissed like that before. In the past Sansa never had any trouble controlling herself with Joffrey; in fact it was quite the opposite: she had difficulty controlling _him_. Looking back, Sansa should have refused to even see him again after the very first time he didn’t want to take no for an answer.

And yet Sandor listened to her, both her words and how her body responded to him. He managed to easily navigate her wants and needs, even without her expressly telling him. Unlike Joffrey, Sandor had immediately stopped when she asked him to. Granted, Sandor hadn’t really done anything other than kiss her, but even that made her feel very wicked and longing for more of him.

Even though his face was horribly scarred, Sansa still found Sandor extremely attractive. There was no denying his body was a work of art, but it wasn’t merely his physique that stoked her interest in the man.  His deep gray eyes held an honesty she had seldom seen since leaving Winterfell, and also held a melancholy which touched her deeply. Seeing thus within him, watching him allow her to see into his soul and let down his own defenses made her long to learn the source of his sadness, and if possible, to comfort him.  

Sansa didn’t pity him, however, for Sandor possessed a strength and ferocity that was both unique and formidable, and it made the young woman long to take some of it for herself. In truth, she found Sandor an intriguing blend of many qualities she never expected to find in _any_ man, let alone one she met in a coffee house.

Sansa certainly had her own share of misery in her young life; unfortunately there had been no one to comfort her. She did not want the same for Sandor; in fact, she patently could not bear the idea.

The day her father escorted her from Winterfell for Washington D.C. to join his childhood friend Robert Baratheon, Sansa thought her life was about to begin but in fact, she came very close to losing it among the den of lions that made up Joffrey’s family. In no time Sansa was trapped there, engaged to Joffrey, a virtual prisoner in their home. Unfortunately, death was a fate that her mother, father and brother could not escape.

No, Sandor deserved better. He served his country, he was honest, and despite his gruff ways, he seemed to respect her. Absently Sansa wiped away the tears she did not realize were falling from her eyes before her hand wandered to the scar that marred her right temple. Though she carefully tried to cover it with her hair, the scar Joffrey had left was the first thing she noticed in her reflection. What if Sandor notices it? How would she explain it to him?

Sansa decided she would just tell him the truth, even though she also dreaded his reaction, given the way he treated the businessman in the coffee shop.  A sudden chill came over her. Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Sansa then set to cleaning the kitchen counters with generous amounts of Comet. When her eyes wandered toward the clock, she was surprised to find he had been in the bathroom for forty five minutes.

 _I wonder what is keeping Sandor. I hope nothing is amiss. The water is still running, he must be enjoying the first hot shower he’s had in a long time._ So as not to interrupt his hot water supply by running the kitchen faucet, as often happened in her old house, Sansa decided she would forgo the kitchen in favor of the bedrooms.

The first two were small and devoid of furniture, which made cleaning them easy work. The largest of the three had knotty pine walls, a heavy down comforter, a dresser and a nightstand. _Sandor’s room,_ she sighed as his familiar scent filled her senses and sent a fresh course of lust through her body.

 _Such a lovely home_ , she sighed to herself as she allowed herself to sink back onto the California king-sized mattress. Curiously she began entertaining the small changes she would make to it, if by some chance she ever was allowed to live here. _Maybe he would rent it to me if ever he’s deployed._ When the time came, she would be sure to ask him, for Sansa hated the small, noisy apartment she had downtown, and even more so now that she had been inside Sandor’s cozy, quiet home.

Was it the home she found cozy, or was it Sandor? Yes, for some reason, it was him that made her feel safe, comforted, and happy. Sansa blushed at the thought. But how could such be? She barely knew him, and though Sansa loved fairy tales and romance novels, in the real world she knew love took time to develop. Was it love she was beginning to feel for him? Her heart began hammering in her chest at the very idea. Or was it just a healthy dose of lust? In truth, it was more than a little bit of _both_.

She wanted to finish before he came out, and she definitely did not want him to find her wallowing around on his bed, and so Sansa generously sprayed the rag with lemon furniture polish and hurriedly dusted it thoroughly. Then, she moved on to running the dry dust mop over the floor, fluffed the pillows and remade the bed before moving on to the nightstand.

There sat a picture of a young boy about 10 years of age, the same age as her brother Rickon, and a young woman.  For a moment Sansa held her breath. _Is it possible Sandor has a son?_ Of course it was possible, but was it so? And who is the woman? She was very pretty, and a wave a jealousy went through Sansa as she studied her. On closer inspection though, she saw it was a childhood picture of Sandor, for the child staring at the camera had the same scarring on one side of his face, and the beautiful young woman with jet black hair and gray eyes. She had her arms wrapped around him and they were laughing. Was she his mother? His sister, or an aunt, perhaps? Relieved, Sansa carefully picked it up, smiling back at the pair in the photograph until a knock on the front door startled her out of her reverie.

Wiping her hands on a towel, Sansa peeked around the corner and saw an unusually tall platinum blonde woman with a fashionably short hair cut at the door. “Good afternoon,” Sansa called out with a smile as she unlatched the screen and stepped onto the porch.

“Oh, I beg your pardon, ma’am. I came to see Sandor Clegane,” the woman stammered. “Is he here?”

“Yes, he’s in taking a shower. Won’t you come in and sit a spell until he’s finished?” Sansa offered, proud that she remembered the local courtesies. When the woman entered the house, Sansa could see she was almost as tall as Sandor.

“Thank you kindly,“ the woman answered as she slowly sat down.  She was holding a basket of food, and the delicious aroma reminded Sansa that she had not eaten since breakfast.

“It smells wonderful!” Sansa smiled, gesturing toward the basket.

“It’s a tradition in this neighborhood to provide a meal for the soldiers on their first night home.”

“How very kind. If you would care to wait, I’m sure Sandor will be happy to receive it.”

The woman smiled as she glanced around the room. “You’ve been busy in here. Forgive my rudeness, introductons should come first. I'm Brienne.”

“How do you do, Brienne? I'm Sansa.”

“I’m very well, thank you. And how do you do?”

“I'm also very well, thank you. Would you like something to drink? Sansa offered.

“No, ma’am, I just wanted to stop by with a meal for him. My husband serves in the same unit as Clegane. They’ve known each other since they were children. We’re only a few doors down, in the red house with the elm tree out front.”

Sansa smiled broadly. “Well the food smells delicious. Perhaps I can return the favor another time?”

“No, ma’am, please, don’t trouble yourself. My Jaime won’t be home for three more months.” Brienne forced a smile.

Sansa gently rested her hand on her arm. “Well, I hope in the meantime we can become friends. Let’s have lunch together one day next week. What say you?”

Brienne smiled now, an infectious, genuine smile that reached clear up to her startling blue eyes.

“I would like that very much.” Suddenly she rose, and Sansa noticed the water in the shower turned off. “I best be going now. I hope you like my chicken and dumplings.”

“I’m sure we will, thank you, Brienne. Let me walk you out.” Sansa stepped off the porch and followed alongside Brienne as she walked to the driveway.

“Pardon my forwardness, but are you the, um, Clegane’s employee or are you…?” Brienne blushed brightly as she spoke.

The question took Sansa aback. What _was_ she to Sandor, exactly? Hardly more than a casual friend as of this morning and yet somehow, by this afternoon everything had changed, and now she could not deny that they meant something to each other despite their short acquaintance. She found herself wholly unprepared to explain.

“Sandor and I, well, we were starting to become friends before he left. He used to come into my work for coffee every day and we’d chat a bit and now…well, we’re getting to know each other.” Sansa shrugged shyly, her cheeks flushing deeply as she struggled to find the right words.

“I’m glad he has you,” Brienne smiled softly. “Sandor has been lonely for some time now, though he’d rather die than admit it. You’re the first woman I’ve ever seen him bring into his house. That’s not to say he’s never...well, you understand me. But you must be special for him to bring you into his own private sanctum.” Brienne then offered her a quick hug before she hurried down the path to her own home before Sansa could answer her.

"You come back now any time." She called after Brienne, who turned and waved in reply.

As Sansa made her way back to the house, she replayed Brienne’s words, which immediately brought a huge grin spread across her face. _Could it be true?_ _Did Sandor invite me here because I mean something to him as well? Is it possible that he feels what I am feeling inside?_  

His behavior made it obvious he had been with other women, but the fact that Sandor brought her to his _home_ was out of the ordinary made her wonder if he somehow viewed her as special.

Sansa hummed happily to herself at the idea, and when she reached the porch, Sandor was standing there, his mouth twitching into a smile as he regarded her.

She bit her lower lip and wondered what he was thinking as she returned his smile.

“I met your friend Brienne. Did you see the delicious meal she brought us?”

“Aye, I saw it.” Sandor swung open the screen door for her just as fat raindrops began descending upon her.  He had on a tight black t-shirt and black sweatpants which accentuated every inch of his muscular frame. “You called it for true. Looks to be a gully washer.”

Squealing, Sansa hurried inside, laughing as she did so. “You had your shower. I guess nature decided it was time I had mine.” Carefully she shook out her hair, trying not to gape at the imposing man before her.  Sandor was still staring at her, the intensity of his gaze threatening to steal her breath away.

Tremulously Sansa sighed contentedly as she moved past him to the kitchen. “Would you like me to fix you a plate?”

“Sure you wouldn’t rather go out?” Sandor tipped her chin up to him. The rain began to patter loudly against the tin roof.

Recalling his behavior in the noisy coffee house, she said, “No, I think I would prefer to stay in. We could eat, maybe watch a movie. What say you?” Sansa blushed as she rested her hands on his own.

“That suits me fine.” He scratched his stubbled chin. “I’m not up for noisy crowds just yet.”

He averted his eyes as he spoke, rubbing his hands together nervously as he did so. The act saddened her at once. Slipping her hand into his own, Sansa led him to the small table in the kitchen.

“Here, please, sit down. Let me fix your supper.”

“I can do it, lass. You’ve been a busy little bird in here,” Sandor raised his eyebrow as he looked about. “Let me serve you for once.” Gently he pulled her closer and raised her hand to his lips and kissed her lightly, the intimacy of his movement causing Sansa to tremble at his touch.

When she met his gaze, Sansa noticed open fissures on the scarring around Sandor’s mouth, his ear and his temple. _It must have opened up in the warm water._

“You’re bleeding, Sandor. Please, let me help you with that.”

Sandor started to protest but Sansa moved away from him, not waiting for a reply. Fumbling in her cross body bag, she brought out a small kit consisting of swabs and then carefully arranged them on the table.

“After we first met, I asked the wound care nurse who was training me if I could take a few of these for you to try. They are silver nitrate swabs. They won’t hurt or sting, she said, and they can heal the raw areas and prevent infection.“

“You held onto them in your pack this entire time?” Sandor eyes bored into her own, searching for any signs of deception, Sansa knew.

Was he so unaccustomed to someone caring for him, for someone even wanting to help him, that he immediately doubted her intentions? The thought made her sadder still.

Within his gaze, Sansa watched his steely façade fall slightly, but soon enough, the hardened expression with which Sandor normally armed his features returned.

“Found me that ugly, huh?”

“No! You mustn’t say such things.” Sansa felt her eyes fill with tears. Sandor both looked and sounded so angry, so bitter, that it pained her deeply. She wanted to help him but she did not know how. “You are not ugly, and scars cannot change that. I want to help you. You will get very ill if you let these open wounds go untreated. Please, I cannot not bear to see you suffer.” Reaching out to him, Sansa gently cupped his cheek. “How do the military doctors treat your fissures?”

Something like shame washed over Sandor’s face but he made no move to turn away from her.

“They have me slather some greasy ointment over them and keep it covered, even in the heat, the buggering fools.”

 _Surely it wasn’t plain Neosporin they give him? It’s a miracle it didn’t get infected, what with the unsanitary conditions and blowing sand._ Keeping her thoughts to herself, Sansa nodded and led him to the table. “Here, I can reach your face easily if I sit on the counter.” She propped herself up. “Come closer.”

When Sandor hesitated, Sansa smiled brightly and beckoned to him once more.

“Come here, Sandor.” She reached out to him.

“Disgusted by the scarred dog, girl?” He snarled at her, jerking away. “Must be for you to put on such a show.”

“Oh, how could you say such a thing?” Sansa turned his chin toward her, forcing him to meet her eyes. “Do you think so little of me? Surely you musn"t, or you wouln't have come to me as soon as you got home.“ Taking his hands in her own, Sansa whispered, “Do you believe that I would kiss you, hold you, and touch you so freely if I found you repulsive? I find you very attractive Sandor- couldn't you feel it? Didn’t you notice what a fool I made of myself with you earlier?”

Gritting his teeth, Sandor struggled to speak. “You didn’t make a fool of yourself, lass; it was…special, something I haven’t had before, believe that.”

Unwrapping the swab, Sansa brazenly placed her legs on the outside of his thighs and drew him closer still, blushing as she did so. He allowed it, and rested his hands on the tops of her thighs.

“This isn’t what I imagined us doing in this position, lass.” Slowly he rubbed small circles over the material of her dress.

Sansa giggled nervously. “I have carried this medicine with me since the day we met so you would heal properly. I just didn’t know the right way to approach you. Please, it is because I care for you that I wish to help you.” She placed her hand on his chest. “I know you see the truth in my eyes. I know you can _feel_ how deeply I care for you.”

“Little bird,” Sandor rasped, his voice as harsh as steel against stone. Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead against hers, sighing deeply as he did so. Slowly his calloused hands brushed under her skirt against the bare skin on her legs, and Sandor began rubbing soothing circles on her thighs as he submitted to her attentions.

Sansa allowed him this intimacy, for his hands began to tremble violently as she tended his wounds, and she understood he was touching her as much to comfort himself as to reassure her.

“Are you in pain?” She asked softly.

He shook his head, never opening his eyes, though his trembling worsened. _His pain is not physical, it is psychological._ Sansa tried to finish as quickly as possible, and when she was done, she drew Sandor close in her arms. For a long while, there was no sound but the rain pouring off the roof as they held each other.

“Forgive me, lass.” Sandor’s hot breath caress her ear instantly raised goose bumps on her arms and legs, leading Sansa to wonder if he felt the effect he had on her.

“I do forgive you,” Sansa replied, pulling slightly away from him so she could look into his eyes. “But you must not question my feelings for you simply because of your wounds and scarring-it isn’t fair to me, and it could very well jeopardize what might be between us in the future.”

She brushed her lips lightly over the scarring at his temple, the ruined area that was his ear, and Sandor’s jawline while tenderly cupping the other side of his face. She felt the wetness on his cheeks. Not knowing how else to comfort him, Sansa was moved to sing a hymn her mother taught her to him.

_Gentle Mother, font of mercy,_

_Save our sons from war, we pray_

_Stay the swords,_

_And stay the arrows_

_Let them know a better day._

_Gentle Mother, strength of women,_

_Help our daughters through this fray_

_Soothe the wrath and tame the fury_

_Teach us all a kinder way._

As her voice faded, Sandor suddenly drew her closer to him, wrapping his massive arms around her body protectively, even possessively, and that was all the reply Sansa needed from him. He pressed her body against his until they were flush against one another.

Gently Sansa ran her fingernails lightly through his short hair.

“Thank you.” Sandor whispered in her ear after a while. “I’m not good at this sort of thing…”

“Me neither. We’ll learn together, Sandor.” She pulled him closer still.

“I found another letter from the military in my mailbox while you walked Brienne out,” Sandor rasped low, burying his face in her hair. “I’m to be deployed back to Kandahar in December.”

A sharp pang of fear drove the air from Sansa’s lungs. “So soon? For how long?”

“Three months, the fucking bastards. I was supposed to be done. My duty _was done_.” Abruptly he pulled away from Sansa and then stalked into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gully washer- a powerful rainstorm  
> Supper-In our house, the afternoon meal wasn't called lunch, it was called dinner, and it was the largest meal of the day. The lighter evening meal, usually leftovers from dinner, was referred to as supper.  
> The manners displayed between Sansa and Brienne are not considered formal in a Southern household, these are just the basic manners used for any visitor to the home and to use such is to welcome the person.  
> The phrase: "You all come back now, you here?" is an open invitation for the caller to return anytime.  
> My grandfather invited every caller inside the house, as he considered it shameful to keep a visitor on the porch, or as he stated, "You're just announcing to the neighborhood that you're rude and ill-mannered when you keep folks outside." Of course, this was in a time when people didn't have to be quite as cautious as they are now about letting strangers into their homes.  
> And just a note about the treatment I chose for Sansa to try on Sandor: my friend uses this in wound care for third and fourth degree burns but in a very different application than Sansa is using here. Please do not consider the mention of the medication in this chapter as an endorsement for use in treating burns at home.


	4. Chapter 4

_Should I go after him?_ It was Sansa’s first instinct, but considering that they had only started getting to know one another, she really had no idea what Sandor needed from her in that moment. _It must be quite a shock to find yourself home from a war, thankful you survived, only to find a letter waiting for you ordering you to return._ Shuddering, Sansa could not imagine what Sandor was feeling.

 _Perhaps it would be better for Sandor to be let alone for a bit._ _Maybe I should just go_. Sansa dismissed the thought as soon as it came; she didn’t want Sandor to think she would just leave him whenever he got upset, and clearly, he was the very kind of man who would tell her to get out if he truly wanted to be alone.  

Briefly Sansa wondered if she should say something to him about his health. Another tour of duty would be his undoing: she had seen how he struggled in the coffee house and another deployment could very well break him. Sandor was clearly showing signs of PTSD and the last thing he needed was for her to abandon him.  

Praying silently, Sansa moved to the window and stared out at the rain. _Mother, Father, help me know how to help him. Give me the strength to comfort him, and to know the right words to say. Help me give him the comfort that I so desperately needed, and still do._ The rain was coming down in droves, turning the mud and gravel driveway into a washed out mess. Streams of muddy water flowed downhill, bypassing the house in the drainage area cut out along the side of the property.

 _Even if I wanted to leave I could not, not in this weather._   Sighing, Sansa decided to settle in and wait for Sandor to return. She suddenly noticed how sticky she was from working, and though Sansa believed it inappropriate to just strip off her clothing and bathe in a single man’s house, propriety soon gave way to the desire to be neat and clean.

 _Maybe he decided to lie down a while. I wonder if Sandor would mind if I take a shower. Surely not. I cleaned his whole house for him, the least he can_ _do is allow me a bath._ Tiptoeing down the hall, Sansa drew out two towels and washcloth and then went into the bathroom. After turning on the water, Sansa scanned the small space. It was clean but sparse, just like the rest of the house.

She took off her dress and hung it up next to the shower in the hopes it would freshen it up. Inside the cupboard she found a plain bar of Dial soap and a bottle of 2 in 1 shampoo, as well as a few hotel size bottles of body lotion, so she stripped off the rest of her clothing and climbed into the shower.

For a long time Sansa let the steaming water soothe her, cleansing her worries and frayed nerves. It was a habit from her days in Winterfell, one that had served her well. She would help Sandor as best she could, she made up her mind, no matter what it entailed. The feeling that it was unseemly to stay in someone else’s shower for very long interrupted her thoughts and so Sansa quickly set about scrubbing her long hair and washing her body, hoping she would finish cleaning up before Sandor opened the door.

When Sansa climbed out of the tub, she carefully picked through the limited toiletries under the sink, taking a peculiar satisfaction from the fact that there were no products that suggested a woman lived there. After drying off, she used a bit of his deodorant, rubbed the coconut scented hotel lotion over her skin, and hung up her towels neatly. Sansa stepped back into her fuchsia dress, wishing she had a change of clothes, for the afternoon had grown chilly.

Having found a comb on the cabinet, Sansa applied a bit of mascara and lipstick and then settled down in front of the television. Much to her delight, there was a John Wayne marathon on the movie classics channel. Settling back on the couch, Sansa then carefully set about detangling her waist length hair.

* * *

Before long, she heard the bedroom door open, but still Sansa kept her focus on the television _. Let him come to me when he’s ready._ It was sooner than she imagined, for suddenly Sansa felt Sandor’s breath on her ear, sending a tantalizing shiver through her body, even though he otherwise did not touch her.

“I couldn’t just stay in there wondering if you were sitting on my couch wearing nothing but a towel.” He rasped into her ear before climbing over the back of the couch and sitting beside her.  Sandor leaned in close, nuzzling into her neck as he did so. “Hmm, you smell good.”

“Thank you.” Sansa blushed heatedly, moving aside to make room for him. “Did you rest?”

“You expect me to sleep with your scent on my pillow, Little bird? If only I’d known you were in my bed while I was showering.” He grinned devilishly at her, the lewd implication of his words causing her to blush even more deeply. “There it is.” Sandor smiled, tracing the back of his index finger over her cheek as he spoke.

Shaking her head, Sansa could not help but laugh at the fact that Sandor managed to flirt with her even when he had been so distressed earlier. “I-I was only imagining what it would be like to live here…I mean, that is to say, if you would ever consider renting to me, should you get deployed again.” Sadly, Sansa shook her head once more. “I had no idea it would be so soon.” Suddenly her eyes filled with tears, and Sansa bit her lip to keep from crying.

She felt Sandor reach out to brush back her hair; she timidly wiped away her tears and offered him a small smile. His eyes narrowed sharply with a frightening intensity as they traversed her face to her right temple.

“You got a boyfriend who likes knocking you around?”

Sheepishly she raised her hand to cover the scar. “No, not for a long while now. I was once engaged to a young man from Washington D.C. His name is Joffrey. His father and mine all but arranged it; neither of us really wanted to be married and I only went along with it to please him.” Sansa paused to gauge his reaction.

Sandor stared at her intently but allowed her to continue. “After my parents and brother died, I ended it once and for all with him. His family is very well connected politically, and the break up came as an embarrassment to them. So when he came out here to see his uncle off to his deployment, he found out where I went to school and tried to persuade me to take him back.” She gestured to her head. “He ended up getting arrested and being slapped with a restraining order. Another uncle arrived shortly after, posted his bail, and then made him go back to Washington. I don’t think he’ll come back here anytime soon.”

Fury roiled through Sandor’s gaze as he leaned in closer and traced the silvery scar gently with his index finger. “The little fucker came to see his uncle, you say?”

“Yes.”

“How long ago?”

“Come to think of it, not long after your own deployment. Why?”

“His last name Lannister?”

Startled, Sansa sat bolt upright “Yes. How did you know?”

“His grandfather is a general-General Tywin Lannister.”

“Yes, that’s him!”

“My father once served under him during the Vietnam war. After my parents died, he forced me into joining the service when I was very young, saying it was my father’s wish, and that it would help pay for my medical expenses and the like.”

“You lost your parents too?” Sansa asked quietly.

“Aye, under what was neatly labeled “mysterious circumstances”. My sister, too.”

Sansa sniffed. “That is just how the police described the death of my parents and eldest brother. It must be in the manual or something.”

Sandor laughed without mirth, his lip curling into a sneer as he spoke. “His uncle Jaime is married to Brienne. We’re in the same regiment.”

 _God gods. Am I never to get a moment’s peace?_ Her eyes darting to the door, Sansa started to tremble violently, but Sandor took her hands in his.

“Easy, lass. He won’t be bothering you again, believe that. No one will hurt you again, Sansa, or I’ll kill them.”

Sandor’s threat was no mere talk, of that she was certain; in fact, he sounded so definite, so cold and frightening that Sansa believed he would do just as he said. _What sort of man is Sandor?_

She knew that part of being a soldier was killing the enemy when you were ordered to do so, but how did such values carry over into civilian life? Sandor’s words both thrilled and frightened her, and at once her trembling worsened.

“I’ll keep you safe, Sansa,” Sandor rasped low. “Though I’ve done things I’m not proud of, I’m a soldier and I protect those I care for. Only a bloody coward strikes a woman or a child and I’ll be damned if it happens again.”

Shyly Sansa offered him a small smile, his words reassuring and comforting her. “You _care_ for me? That is why you would do such?”

“Might be. Could be.” Sandor gruffly confessed, then moved away from her. “I mean it, Sansa. That little shit comes near you again and it will be the last thing he does on this gods forsaken earth, believe that.”

 _Why does he look so embarrassed to admit his feelings?_ Sansa wondered as she watched Sandor nervously move about the room, though she knew such was the way of men. “I do believe you, Sandor.”

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he stood inside the small bay window and watched the rain, his mouth quirking into a small grin. “Rough weather out there.”

“Yes, I’m glad we decided to stay in,” she broke the silence while moving beside him, resting her hand on his bicep. “I’m ready to eat if you are.”

“Aye, let me get it.”

When he turned to leave the room, Sansa threw her arms around him, pulling him close. “I care for you, too.” She breathed in his ear before kissing him soundly.

“Little bird.” Sandor whispered against her mouth before covering her lips with his own. After they kissed a while, Sandor reluctantly stopped, burying his face in her neck and breathing heavily, the man seeming to summon his self-control before moving away from her. Flustered, Sansa too struggled to control her breathing, taking turns smoothing down her hair and dress as she waited for him to speak.

“That was dessert; let’s have the main course.” He grinned sheepishly at her. After doling out the contents of Brienne’s basket onto two plates, they stepped out onto wraparound porch and settled on the swing to eat their meal.

Sandor draped a blanket over the two of them. “This will ward off the chill. You want something warmer to put on?”

 _He’s offering me his clothing?_ A pleasant thrill went through Sansa. “Yes, please.”

Sandor rose and brought back his Army issue jacket, very heavy and in blue and white camouflage, very different from the garment he wore earlier. “From Kosovo,” Sandor explained. “My first deployment.”

 _Poor man, he’s seen a lot of combat, a lot of suffering._ “What is your rank, Sandor?” Sansa asked, hoping to draw him out a bit.

“Master Sergeant,” Sandor sniffed, his words tight and forced as he spoke. “I’m not an officer.”

“You’ve never wanted to go to officer candidate school?

“I don’t believe in their so-called honor.”

 _What a strange position for a man who has served for so long to take._ Sansa couldn’t help herself. “If you don’t mind me asking: why not? Is it not out of honor that you serve?”

“Duty and honor are two very different things, lass, and rank has nothing to do with it. I’ve seen plenty of so-called officers do many a dishonorable thing in this man’s army.” Sandor’s tone indicated it was his final word on the subject, and so Sansa let it go.

They sat in silence for a while until she tried again. “These dumplings are delicious.”

Sandor snorted. “They ought to be. I taught Brienne how to make them.”

“You taught _her_ to cook?”

“Aye I did. She couldn’t boil water when she married Jaime. She served along with us from the beginning, and a harder assed soldier you’ll be pressed to find, believe that. She’s a police detective now.”

“Oh.” Sansa said absently, wondering why Sandor did not choose a similar woman to date instead of her.

“How about you?” Sandor asked, handing her another cathead biscuit. “You’re learning to be an RN?”

“Yes, with a subspecialty in wound care. It isn’t the highest paying area in medicine for a nurse; in fact it is one of the lowest. But after my youngest brother was crippled in a fall, though, it just didn’t matter. I wanted to work on a one on one basis with patients so that I can make a real difference, maybe even change their lives.” She stared off into the distance. “I will start my internship around Christmas; the same time you will leave for deployment.” Her voice quivered on the last word.

Sandor changed the subject then. He went on to tell her that his elder brother, who recently died overseas.

When Sansa offered her condolences, he replied, “Save your sorries for someone who deserves them, lass. Gregor may have been a lieutenant but he was also a rapist, a thief and a killer so horrible that one of his own men murdered him,” he explained. “A death more merciful that he deserved, too.”

Dumbstruck, Sansa gaped at him, not knowing what to say, while Sandor continued to stare out at the rain.

 _His brother is the reason he doesn’t believe in the honor of officers_ , she concluded. “Then I am sorry you had such a brother,” Sansa offered softly.

He shrugged and placed another piece of chicken on her plate.

Sansa told Sandor about her father, who served in the Vietnam war and went on to strike oil in Alaska, and her brothers and sister. Lastly she told him of her mother and Robb, who died on their way to a cousin’s wedding reception.

Sandor listened quietly, sniffing and patting her on the arm as she spoke. When Sansa finished,  he then shared that his father happened to serve in Vietnam too, alongside General Lannister, who rewarded him well afterward with lands out in Colorado. All the time Sandor was speaking, Sansa could not help but wonder if he knew more about Joffrey than he first let on.

“Have you ever met Joffrey?” Sansa ventured quietly, unable to stifle her curiosity any longer.

“Aye I know him well. I worked for his mother. His grandfather figured our family owed him a debt of gratitude, what with getting our family’s green cards and citizenships expedited, so he had me serve as her bodyguard for a bit.”

“Bodyguard? Did you receive special training for that?”

“You best believe I did,” Sandor hissed through gritted teeth. “Took my brother and I into his “private security” force from the time we grew big enough. I didn’t have the propensity for cruelty that he and Gregor did, though, so General Lannister had me watch over his grandson and made Gregor his special pet.”

“Joffrey never told me you were his bodyguard,” Sansa shook her head in amazement. “Or that he ever had a bodyguard before Meryn Trant.”

“I quit when he was fifteen. When I saw what a cruel little shit Joffrey was growing into as he neared manhood, I lit out of there, duty or no; but the general made sure I served him in the Army.”

“I see. I’m so sorry.”

Sandor just shrugged but Sansa could not let it go. _No wonder he took no pride in service!_ Anger flooded her mind at the thought. _In exchange for legal citizenship, Sandor and his family were virtually slaves to the Lannisters!_ They should go to jail for it, but Sansa knew that even if they told the authorities, no one would believe a war hero like General Lannister would do such a thing.  

Sandor grew somewhat taciturn after this revelation, as though he had not intended to share so much with her so early in their relationship. Sansa did not press him further and they finished the meal in comfortable silence, each lost in thought.

When they were through, Sandor took the dishes inside while Sansa stayed outside and watched the storm. Suddenly an idea struck her. _I could try for a position in the Veteran’s hospital. I’m sure there are many soldiers who need wound care._ _I need to get my state license first, but the VA could be a good fit for me._ Yes, the more Sansa thought of it, the better she liked the idea. Sansa decided she would look into it but also made up her mind that she would keep her idea to herself for now.

Sandor poked his head out the door. “I laid out warmer clothes for you, if you want them.”  Without waiting for a reply, he opened the door for her and jerked his head toward his bedroom. “My sister’s things. They’ve been in a Space Bag for quite a while now but they were laundered before they were stored.” Sandor drew a deep breath. “Wear whatever you want.”

Biting her lip to hold her questions at bay, Sansa went into the bedroom. Laid neatly on the bed was a pair of black Juicy sweatpants, fuzzy socks, a pink t shirt and black hoodie for her. They were a bit big on her but Sansa was very grateful for them, for the weather turned colder still. Hurriedly Sansa pulled on the clothes before taking in her reflection. _I hope it won’t unnerve him to see me wearing her clothing._

The sound of the television drew her to the den. Sandor had turned off the lights, put a fire in the fireplace and lit a few candles. He was curled up on the couch with a blanket, half dozing, until he caught sight of her. Raising his brow at her, Sandor whistled low and patted the space beside him.

“True Grit just started.” He pointed to the screen.

“Oh good, this one’s my favorite!” Sansa carefully sat down beside Sandor and pulled the blanket over her lap. Strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her tightly against an equally muscular chest. Bashfully Sansa glanced up at him. “This is the perfect first date, Sandor.”

“Aye, it is, and the perfect welcome home for one such as me as well.” He murmured as he buried his face in her hair and then kissed her lightly on the neck. True to his word, Sandor did not pressure her to go further. The sound of the rain paired with the warm feeling of Sandor’s embrace soon lulled Sansa into a peaceful sleep.

* * *

The sound of Sandor’s desperate voice in her ear awakened her sometime later. “Sansa, wake up lass. It’s after midnight.” The only other noise in the house was the rain pattering on the tin roof.Sleepily she rubbed her eyes, trying to get her bearings. His arms were still tightly around her, and so she rested against his chest.

“Oh Sandor forgive me, I overstayed my welcome-“

“Stay with me.” Sandor rasped low.

“Why do you want me to stay?” Sansa asked softly, trying to understand him. His voice sounded different, frightened even. _What has happened?_ She leaned over and turned on the lamp. “I told you I am not that type of woman. I’m not here so you can-”

“I know you’re not, Sansa.” His hand slipped around her waist, gripping her closer to him. “I want you to stay. I _need_ you to stay.” Sandor trembled beneath her. "Just let me hold you."

“It’s alright. You can hold me.” She whispered back to him, pressing her fingers on his lips lightly. Her mind said no, it was not right for her to spend the night with him, but her heart screamed yes, stay with him and comfort him. There was no reason, no logic in her decision; only the desire to keep him safe, to provide solace and rest. “But I don’t think it appropriate to sleep in your bed with you when we hardly-“

Sandor encircled his arms around her body and tightly gripped Sansa against him, surrounding her with his body. His hands clutched her harder again, and Sansa soon realized that he was crying, his tears wetting her hair and neck as he struggled to speak.

“Stay,“ Sandor finally managed, the sound from his throat forced, desperate. “Say you’ll stay with me, Sansa. We’ll sleep here. I just want to hold you for the rest of the night,” Sandor told her truthfully; Sansa saw it in his eyes. “I want to sleep with you in my arms. Sleep without the nightmares. You-you keep them away.” Sandor averted his eyes, and then began running his hands over his head. “Fuck, listen to me. You must think I’m a bloody-“

“Shh,” she murmured into Sandor’s ear, her hands gliding over his back and up to his neck with gentle, soothing caresses. “It’s alright.” Sansa said softly. “Yes, I’ll stay. I’ll stay right here with you.”

She raised her hands to gently hold Sandor’s face, cupping him on either side of his jaw with her hands, and then Sansa pressed her lips against his cheek to kiss him there. Next she pressed her lips to the side of his face near his ear and then along his jawline. She would give him this, this comfort and simple reassurance, the consolation he so desperately needed. Sansa trusted him and she knew the first night home was bound to be difficult, so why should she not stay?

Sandor turned his head, brushing his lips against hers in a kiss. Tenderly his hand came up to hold the back of her head as he parted his lips. Sansa slowly allowed her mouth to open to him, let him slip his tongue past her lips against her own tongue, and she moaned softly at the feel of him. Gasping, Sandor pulled away from her mouth, suddenly pressing his forehead to hers.

“You’re safe with me, Sansa. I’ll not pressure you.” Sandor gathered her close to him once more and snuggled down in the crook of her neck.

“I know. I trust you. Just get some rest, Sandor.” They spoke no more then, only held each other and listened to the rain while Sansa ran her hands over his shoulders soothingly. Soon, the two fell fast asleep once more.


	5. Chapter 5

"Wake up, Sansa," Sandor whispered into her ear, the scruff of his beard tickling her cheek as he spoke. His voice startled her, for she had forgotten she had stayed the night at Sandor's place.  _I cannot believe I spent the night with him on the first date. My mother would turn over in her grave if she knew._

Even though they really didn't do anything more than kiss, in the light of day Sansa felt extremely shy to face him.  _What time is it?_  Cautiously opening one eye, Sansa looked out the bay window to see the early morning light slowly emerging in spite of the weather. The rain was still pouring down, pattering pleasantly against the roof and lulling her to sleep with its steady timbre.

When she peeked at Sandor, he was grinning at her, his face relaxed in a way she had never seen on him before which gave the sound side of his face a boyish look. She wasn't ready to face the day, and more than that, she wasn't ready to be separated from him.

"No, too comfortable, want to stay here with you." Sansa muttered while trying to turn over on to the hard expanse of Sandor's chest. She pressed her hand against his stomach and was stunned when her touch was met with warm skin and soft downy hair rather than the cotton t-shirt material she expected.

Sometime during the night, Sandor managed to remove his shirt. _I_ _should get up at once, this is most inappropriate._ But Sandor felt so good that Sansa instead gave in to temptation.

Blushing heatedly, she allowed her eyes to travel over the hardened musculature of his chest, then down to his rippling abdominals and down further still to the trail of black hair that disappeared below the waistband of his sweatpants. Sandor watched her heatedly, chuckling as her eyes traveled lower still.

Much to her great embarrassment, she noticed he was very aroused and though it shamed her, Sansa could not help but stare at him. I _should get up. It isn't right to tease him in this way._  Unable to resist, she snuggled against him instead, reveling in the feel of his skin against her cheek, even though she was a bit scandalized by his state of undress and at the sight of his hardened manhood clearly defined by the cotton material of his pants.

"How did you manage to take off your shirt?" She asked while brazenly running her nails lightly through his chest hair. 

Sandor stared at her with a slight frown before he shrugged off her compliment, though he looked most pleased. "I don't know, in the middle of the night. Too hot with you on top of me, in both ways your pretty little head can imagine, woman."

"You are beautifully built, Sandor, truly." A rush of warmth flooded her cheeks.

Sandor laughed devilishly at her before taking her hand and kissing it soundly. "If I had my way, we'd wake up every morning like this." He then nuzzled kissed her neck.

Though she did not feel pressured by Sandor, Sansa's desire for him certainly was testing her resolve to hold off on the physical aspect of their relationship. Without thinking, Sansa ran her hands through his hair and arched into him, pressing his hardened manhood flush against her thigh as she did so. It felt so good that she did it a second time, which Sandor responded to by grabbing her thigh and pulling her tightly against him.

"Yes," she half moaned, half sighed, "me too. You feel so good, I wish we could stay this way." Her desire for him returned even stronger than before, making Sansa was very aware of how needy she both sounded and felt. Hooking her leg around his waist, she drew his hips flush against hers as she arched against him a third time, kissing his neck as she did so.

Sandor groaned at the contact and languidly placed soft kisses along her collarbone and down to her neckline. "You can if you want." He said in between kisses. Vaguely Sansa became aware of his hand moving over her ribs and cupping her breast. "And you could wake up here. Wake up with me, every day."

 _Did I hear him right?_  Drawing a deep breath, Sansa struggled to clear the pleasurable haze clouding her mind. She tilted his face up to hers to find him heatedly staring at her, waiting for an answer from her.

"You want me to move in with you, truly?"

Sandor nodded sheepishly, the fear and hope in his eyes shining through his normally keen gaze. Suddenly, he turned away from her, gritting his teeth and setting his jaw as though he said too much. Sansa watched him with widened eyes, waiting for his answer. When Sandor turned to her once more, he looked guilt ridden, and his deep gray eyes were filled with longing.

"I ought not to have voiced that." He clenched and unclenched his hands. "Bloody hells but you loosen my tongue, woman."

"What is it that you want, Sandor? Tell me. It won't ruin things between us, I swear it." Sansa rested her hand on his shoulder. "Please, don't hide from me."

Sandor shifted uncomfortably away from her. "Let it go, lass."

His behavior was utterly puzzling to Sansa. "Is this about the fact that I said I wanted to rent from you while you're deployed?"

"No, Sansa, for fuck's sake," Sandor sighed deeply before facing her. "I want you to be more than my roommate. I want…." He paused. "It's too soon," Sandor held her face in his hands and kissed her softly, reverently. "But one day, yes I want you living here with me. When you're ready, lass; that is, if I haven't come across like some creeper and scared the shit out of you."

Sansa barely heard his last words, so thrilled she was by his admission.  _Live with him? Now? Could she really do that?_  Things were moving very quickly for them, but Sansa had to admit that it felt right to consider it. Moving in with him now was out of the question, she couldn't do that, but perhaps in the future, if things kept going well between them.

Pulling him close, Sansa mulled it over. She would at least like to be engaged to him first. Though Margaery teased her relentlessly for it, Sansa still kept to her somewhat old fashioned sense of morality and after the disaster that was Joffrey, she was glad she did.

Sandor's behavior was so peculiar, as though moving in was only part of what he was suggesting. What did he mean when he said he wanted her as more than a roommate? Did he mean he wanted her to  _marry_ him? It was true that it felt far too soon to consider such a thing and yet the more she thought on it, the better she liked the idea.  _Slow down, Sansa, you're getting ahead of yourself. Your hormones are getting the better of you._  Suddenly she was pulled out of her thoughts by the feeling that Sandor was waiting for a reply.

"One day, when  _you_ are ready," she whispered against his mouth, kissing him deeply while pressing herself further against him. "You will ask me again, and I'll say yes."

"Don't tempt me woman, or I'll move your things over here today," Sandor chuckled wickedly. He rested his forehead against hers, the man struggling to regain his self-control. "Do you mean it?"

Despite his joking manner, something in his tone left Sansa in no doubt that if she pushed him a little further, he would do just that. She chewed her bottom lip as she regarded him, stroking his closely shorn hair.

"Yes, I do."

Groaning, Sandor carefully moved out from under her. "You must think I'm some kind of psychopath, what with last night and now this. I'm not...I'm normally not a man given to my emotions, Sansa. I don't know what's gotten into me."

Saddened, Sansa rested her cheek against his chest. "No, I could tell that from the moment you walked into The Daily Grind. Perhaps you are just overwhelmed at finding yourself at home."

Sandor shrugged, averting his eyes.

She ventured further still. "I think you should talk to someone about the nightmares. We can go together if you like."

"Hush with that, lass. You needs get up now. You have to go to work. Come now, I'll take you there, or by your place first, if you'd rather."

 _Work!_  Sansa sat bolt upright at the word. I _haven't even been home yet! The neighbors will see me leaving with him and they will think…they will think…_ Sansa's cheeks flushed hotly at the thought. A _nd what of Margaery and Loras and Podrick? If they see him drop me off wearing the same dress as yesterday, I'll never hear the end of it._  Groaning, Sansa flopped back on the couch and put her hands over her face.

"Go on, you can clean up here and then I'll take you by your place for fresh clothes," Sandor stood up with her in his arms and then settled her on her feet as though she weighed no more than a dry leaf. "I'll take you to work."

"Thank you," Sansa kissed him and then ran toward the bathroom. After she finished showering, Sansa rummaged around in her bag until she found a piece of paper and a pen. On it she wrote:

_Sandor,_

_Thank you so much for a beautiful evening. I really love getting to know you better. Being with you makes me feel so very happy. I have been quite lonely here until I met you._

_Below is my home and cell phone numbers. I hope to hear from you soon. And should you be plagued with nightmares, please call me anytime, day or night and I will come over._

_♥♥ Sansa ♥♥_

Quickly she ran her lipstick over her mouth and then kissed the note right below her name before she laid it on his pillow.

* * *

Since it was still raining, Sandor brought her back to her apartment in the old Ford and Sansa felt as though everyone in town was staring as they pulled in the driveway. The elderly landlady Olenna happened to be sweeping the porch when they pulled in.

"Oh no," Sansa slid down in the seat. "That's Margaery and Loras's grandmother, Olenna. She's my landlady and very kind but she also gossips something awful."

"So?" Sandor frowned at her. "What do you care what she says? It's none of her bloody business if you stay out all night."

"I...I just don't want her to get the wrong impression."

"And what impression would that be?" Sandor shut off the engine and glared at her. "That you spent the night in my arms?"

"Y-yes," Sansa stammered. She could feel the anger rolling off of him.  _He is a man, I wouldn't expect him to understand about reputations and the like._

"Well, she'd have the right of it, then, because that's exactly what you did. No shame in that. And even if we had slept together in truth, so what? It's nobody's business but ours."

 _He's right._ Sansa giggled at that. "Yes, that's true."

"Then what are you afraid of?" Sandor raised his brow at her.

"I don't…" How could she make Sandor, a man who didn't care what anyone thought of him, understand that she didn't want people to think she was, well,  _easy_? "I don't want her to think I sleep with men on the first date, and she's likely to tell Margaery and Loras just that. They tease me enough already about my "Brady Bunch" morality. I don't want them asking me questions, or giving me a bad reputation with their gossip."

Sandor leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Bugger that. Bugger them. You live your life and stop worrying what they think about it. Neither Margaery nor Loras has a right to talk about "morality" as you call it. She's been with half the officers on my base and so has he. If they talk shit about you and I hear of it, they'll answer to me."

Sighing heavily, Sansa smiled at him and teasingly needled his stomach. "You can't kill every person that vexes me, you know that, right?"

"Who said anything about killing? There's more than one way to skin a cat, and if they keep on, they're liable to find it out the hard way just how miserable life can be."

"Good morning, my dear," the elderly woman called to her before Sansa could reply.

"Good morning, Mrs. Olenna. I hope the weather isn't treating you poorly."

"No, not at all." Olenna looked Sandor up and down and then winked suggestively at her. "I am so glad you have a nice, strapping young man with you this morning. I need a package brought into the house and it's far too heavy for this old woman to carry."

"Mrs. Olenna, allow me to introduce Master Sergeant Sandor Clegane." _Yes, telling her he is in the military will go a long way to gaining her approval._

"A pleasure to meet you, ma'am. Please, call me Sandor."

"The pleasure is mine. Come, help me with this package, will you? You seem more than up to the task."

"Aye, gladly." Sandor lent the old woman his arm and winked at Sansa.

After the two of them walked away Sansa hurried into her apartment. Lady must be starved by now. "Meow, meow," she called out, shaking the bag of food. "Lady kitty. Come here, girl."

At the sound of her name, the large grey and white Norwegian Forest cat eagerly came out from her hiding place and began rubbing against Sansa's legs while her mistress filled the bowls. "I'm sorry, Lady. I'll go to Petsmart and get you a feeder with a reservoir later today so this doesn't happen again." The cat purred contentedly, the happy sound filling the tiny apartment.

Quickly she put on a clean bra and panties, garters and hose, and a turquoise dress and matching ballet flats. Then she carefully drew on cat's eye eyeliner and rolled her hair into the Veronica Lake peekaboo hairstyle she favored before swiping on pink lipstick.

Her new garters pinched and so Sansa stood in the long mirror adjusting them as she waited. When Sandor walked into the room, he stopped stock still and stared heatedly at her, wolf whistling when she met his lustful gaze in the mirror.

"You're a fucking knockout," he growled his eyes roamed appreciatively over her. "Bloody hells you've got great legs. You always wear those?"

It seemed to her that it would take very little encouragement for Sandor to take her into his arms at that moment, and his reaction thrilled her. Blushing deeply, Sansa smiled shyly at him and nodded, the young woman resisting the urge to pull her skirt down over her legs as she continued loosening the clasps and adjusting the seams.

"They aren't in style anymore but I've always loved the look of the 40's starlets."

"Might be I'll have to stay and watch you work today." Sandor looked at her once more in such a way that he reminded Sansa of a dog ready to devour its favorite treat.

Would he really sit in the coffee shop all day just to stare at her legs? Her cheeks flushed hotly at the idea. "I would like that very much, but don't you have to go back to your job today?"

"Not until next week." Sandor settled onto the couch and placed his hands behind his head as he watched her secure the hose to the garters. "They let me stay home the first week I'm back so I can adjust a bit."

An awkwardness fell between them. Crossing the room, Sansa took his hand in her own. "I hope today will be better for you."

Sniffing, Sandor rose. "Thanks to you, yesterday was much better than my usual first day home. I slept well last night, so I'm already better." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her. "Come now, let's get you to work."

"Sandor, before we go, I just want to thank you for a lovely first date," Sansa's cheeks reddened as she spoke. "It was the best date I've ever been on, actually. I hope to see you again soon." She fidgeted with the handle of her purse uncertainly as she waited for him to answer.

Sandor's deep gray gaze fell her, both intensely personal and yet somehow exciting, while the man seemed to try to put his thoughts to words. After what felt like an eternity, Sandor finally replied, "It was the best date I've  _ever_  been on, lass. Now that I know you feel the same, you just try keeping me away. Can I see you later?"

"I would love that-" Sansa's face fell. "But I have class later."

To her great satisfaction, Sandor looked as disappointed as Sansa felt.

Fidgeting with her purse, she added, "But I would love it if you came and ate supper with me, say, around seven?" Sansa hurriedly jotted down the address on a piece of paper and handed it to him. "If you don't mind driving downtown, that is."

Sandor's mouth twitched into a smile. "Aye, for you I will. I'll see you at seven." He placed the address in his pocket.

"Great!" Sansa gushed.

When Sansa entered the coffee house, she struggled to act calm and collected while patently ignoring Margaery and Loras' shocked faces. Sandor took a seat at a small table in the corner and grinned at her, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Blushing, Sansa tried to focus on the job at hand as she waited on her first customer. As soon as she went behind the counter, Margaery handed her an apron and helped her fasten the ties in back.

"You fucked him, didn't you?" Margaery hissed in her ear. "Why you little vixen, coming off all prim and proper and then fucking the first guy who pays attention to you on the first date. Now I can relate to you!"

Sansa's cheeks flushed hotly but she said nothing. "Oh my god, you did!" Margaery waved over Loras. "I was just giving you a hard time but now I'm sure of it. Loras, Sansa's lips are sealed but I think she fucked that big military guy from yesterday. What do you think?"

"The one with the body?" Loras grinned as he leered at Sandor. "I don't blame you, girl. His face is a hot mess but just look at his big-"

"I did  _not_ have sex with him, Margaery, Loras! So you would you please quit this nonsense and let me work?" Margaery rolled her eyes, while Loras leaned in closer to her and so Sansa added, "And even if we did, it's not any of your business."

Margaery threw her head back and laughed. "My, look who's grown claws overnight. She fucked him, I can tell."

Loras shook his head. "Hmm, I'm gonna go with no. She'd be in a better mood if she had. I'm calling no fuck last night for Sansa."

"Oh my god, you guys!" Sansa turned to them angrily. "Would you stop already? Someone might hear you!"

At the sound of her voice, Sandor got up and sat at the counter. "I'd like my coffee now, miss." He grinned at her, tapping the counter lightly.

"O-okay," Sansa smiled at him. "I'll have to go to the back to get a fresh bag for you." She glared one last time at Loras and Margaery over her shoulder, who were both still snickering behind her back as she walked to the storage room.

When Sansa came out, neither Loras nor Margaery were laughing and both were as far from Sandor as they possibly could get in the small shop.

Sandor grinned wickedly at her as she filled the coffee press with his blend. "That ought to hold them off for a bit."

"What did you do?" Sansa leaned in close. "I've never been able to shut them up."

"Never you mind, lass. Just give me that cup of coffee, will you?"

"Of course." When Sansa handed him his to go cup, Sandor leaned forward and tenderly kissed her on the mouth in front of everyone in the shop. Sansa heard a small murmur go up in the room but she was so happy she didn't care. L _et them see that I care for him and that he cares for me_ , she thought, feeling somewhat rebellious and naughty.

"I'll see you tonight at seven." Sandor called out, grinning at her as he turned to leave the coffee house.

"That man has a mouth on him." Margaery glared after him.

"He certainly does." Sansa answered without thinking, her words causing another uproar of laughter from Margaery and Loras.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The phrase "more than one way to skin a cat" means there is more than one way to accomplish a particular goal.


	6. Chapter 6

The day passed very slowly for Sansa, so eager was she to see Sandor again. She could hardly keep her mind on her work and barely heard the polite attempts at conversation that her customers made, leading to an exceptionally low number of tips in the jar by the register.

After the morning break, she resolved to improve her focus. _I need to do better; it isn’t right that both Margaery and Loras will earn less today simply because I have turned into a lovesick fool and can’t control myself._

Once Sandor left the coffee shop, it took a few hours before Loras and Margaery resumed teasing her about being a lovesick puppy for the Hound. Whatever Sandor had said to them must have made an impression, for neither of them used vulgar language or meanness of tone in their joking when they started up again.

For a fleeting moment she wondered if she should apologize to them for Sandor’s behavior, but since she was enjoying a respite from their endless goading as a result of him, Sansa decided she would not.  In truth, Sansa knew they didn’t mean anything by their mischievous ribbing but it annoyed her just the same. They were used to taunting each other in such a way, as siblings often do, but sometimes they took things too far in Sansa’s opinion.

Though she was lost in thought, Sansa could feel Margaery and Loras watching her, but she didn’t care. They didn’t try to interrupt her musings, much to her surprise. _They are just biding their time_ , she fumed silently. Instead of dealing with their questions, Sansa decided she would take inventory in the stock room and leave the floor to them.

Briefly Sansa tried to picture what it would be like to tease her brothers about the women they brought home in a similar manner to the way Loras and Margaery teased each other. The thought brought a despondent, barely there smile to her lips, for there could not be two more different families than the Tyrells and the Starks, or what was left of the Starks, anyway.

Mrs. Olenna always spoke very frankly with her grandchildren on all subjects; however it seemed to Sansa that sex was foremost on her list. Perhaps it was because she knew they were both somewhat promiscuous, and in spite of her age, she neither condemned them for it nor did she pry. She did, however, make sure they were responsible.

Not long after she moved in to her apartment, Sansa overheard a conversation in which Olenna grilled Loras on his use of condoms and then gave Margaery a thorough dressing down for not regularly getting tested for sexually transmitted diseases.

Sansa had been so stunned she just about choked on her coffee, for she could not imagine having such a conversation with her own mother and father, let alone her grandparents. The more Sansa thought on it, though, she decided it was a healthy, if a bit unorthodox, attitude that the Tyrells had toward sex, perhaps far healthier than her own family’s closed-mouthed behavior.

The Starks talking openly about _sex_? A more ridiculous idea Sansa could not conceive and she laughed out loud at the very idea. Aside from calling it her “wifely duty” Sansa’s mother never mentioned sex, and her father, well, Sansa was certain he would have rather faced a firing squad than discuss such a thing with her.

Robb would have never spoken so crudely to her as Loras did Margaery, and the two younger boys were far too young for such talk. As for Jon, well, who knew, really? Certainly not Sansa, for she had avoided him when they were children. Since he had served in the National Guard for ten years along the border in Canada, she really had no idea what he was like as a grown man, and it shamed her to the core.

Sadly, her sister Arya would be better informed on the subject of Jon, but Sansa had not seen her in the years since she left Alaska either. Undoubtedly though, Arya would be far more open on the subject, just as she was in nearly all things.

She wished her sister and brothers lived close by now. The new onset of emotions and desires Sandor awakened in her left Sansa with many questions, not on the mechanics of sex (for she was studying to be a nurse, after all) but on the right time to advance the relationship.

How did people know when their relationships had matured enough to engage in such intimacies? With Joffrey, Sansa had never felt ready; with Sandor though, everything was different. Sansa had to admit that despite the relatively short amount of time they had known one another, she held no such reservations with Sandor.

She inexplicably felt like they already knew each other far more intimately than she had ever known Joffrey. Certainly there was an tenderness there that was far beyond mere physical attraction; it was an invisible bond of sorts between them that seemed to irresistibly draw Sansa to him. Perhaps it was because Sandor did not hide his true nature from her, and she, in turn, did not feel the need to hide behind her courtesies with him. Sandor felt the same toward her, for in both speech and actions, he had already had proven a number of times that he could read her quite easily as well as anticipate her wants and needs.

As for the physical, Sandor seemed just as ready for it as she felt she was. Her mind kept wandering back to him and the way they woke up together:  his Scottish brogue whispering into her ear had sent a pleasurable tingle through her with every word he spoke; his arms and chest felt strong and muscular around her waist, pulling her ever closer to him. And when Sandor touched and kissed her, he made her feel things she had _never_ felt before.

She had seen (and felt) the evidence of his arousal as well as that of her own, and Sansa could not deny that in spite of her best intentions, she had developed an insatiable hunger for him that could only be quelled by taking their relationship to the next level.

During her musings, Sansa’s mind also wandered into less pleasant areas of the relationship. Sandor’s distracted manner, incredibly short temper in the coffee house, his desperate need to avoid crowds, and the frantic way he clung to her during the night all distressed her greatly.  

As a second year nursing student, Sansa knew the signs of PTSD all too well, and there was no doubt that Sandor had been displaying them in abundance. Still, she knew she shouldn’t try to diagnose him, a habit which many nursing students tended to develop, or base her entire analysis of Sandor’s behavior on the way he acted on his first day home from war.

Her inventory completed, Sansa knew she could not avoid Margaery and Loras any longer and so she made her way to the register once more. Most of the customers had already left, she was glad to see.

Turning to Margaery, she said quietly, “You and Loras should split the tips between you today. I have been so distracted I feel I haven’t earned any of them.”

Margaery raised her perfectly arched brow at her. “Far be it from me to turn down money, Sansa, but we can’t let you do that.”

“Please, I insist, I-“

“Sansa, let me finish. We were a bit over the line with you earlier. Why don’t you just take the rest of the day off, then? You only have an hour left on your shift anyway and that will even things up. I’ll brook no refusals.”

“Y-yes I think I will at that. I needs think over a few things...”

Loras moved beside her. “That big serviceman really has you in a tizzy, doesn’t he?”

Sansa laughed in spite of herself. “Yes, I suppose he does.”

“Well come on, girl, let’s talk about it.” Loras sat her down and poured her a cup of coffee.

“This conversation requires lemon cakes.” Margaery took three of the confections out of the bakery case and put them on a plate before her.

“And whiskey,” Loras grinned, pulled out a flask from his pocket and poured its contents into their coffee cups. “Let’s make these _Irish_ , shall we? Now, tell us what’s troubling you, Sansa. Don’t make me winkle it out of you.”

Sansa sighed and took a big gulp of her now “Irish” coffee. “It’s just that…he…Sandor is really is having trouble with being home from the war. He’s so nervous and edgy, and he has these nightmares…”

Loras and Margaery’s eyebrows immediately arched in unison, their surprised faces mirroring one another. “Hmm, nightmares, eh?”

Blushing, Sansa shook her head. “It isn’t like that. We fell asleep watching a movie and then later, he awakened me, shaking and pleading with me to stay with him. He didn’t push me into doing anything more. He just wanted to hold me.” She looked between them to see Margaery and Loras now wore matching expressions of understanding.

Shrugging, Loras sighed sadly. “Renly was like that when he would come home on leave. It seemed to get worse with each deployment as well.”

Margaery nodded. “Osney was the same way. Always jittery, drinking heavily, willing to fight at the drop of a hat; it comes part and parcel with going to war, I’m afraid.”

“What did you guys do about it?”

“There’s not much that can be done, unfortunately,” Loras spoke quietly. “Have you asked him if he wants to talk to someone? Maybe that woman he’s friends with...what’s her name, Margaery? Brianna? Brianne? Remember her, she was in love with Renly at one time? She didn’t know he was gay. He liked her very much though, and said she was very loyal too.”

“Brienne. Her name is Brienne Lannister.” Margaery corrected. “She’s married to Jaime Lannister now.”

“Yes, she’s the one. Tell Brienne about his behavior, Sansa. She can help, I’m sure of it. Sandor might be willing to talk to her, since she was a soldier too. You just have to be there for him, comfort him in any way you can,” Loras held her hand. “And not just, you know, physically. Try to get him to talk to you about his experiences over there.”

“But don’t push him to talk if he doesn’t want to,” Margaery quickly added. “That just makes them clam up even more. I know Osney did. And you can hold him, you know, comfort him without sex even, if you’re not ready.”

“How do you know when you’re ready, though?” The words spilled out of Sansa and once she broke the ice she couldn’t contain her curiosity. “I have so many feelings for him, even though I haven’t really known him that long."

“Time alone does not determine intimacy, my dear girl,” Loras laughed. “Haven’t you seen the many married couples who barely speak to one another when they come in here?”

She nodded slowly.

“No, time isn’t the only determining factor in closeness, especially with deployment looming over you-in fact, it speeds things up. At least, that’s how it was for me and Renly. Besides, you’ve known him almost a year. He came in every day until he was deployed. Didn’t you think anything of it at the time?”

“Well, we did have some nice chit chat, but still I never thought he liked me. I just thought he was interested in getting to know me."

Margaery rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Sansa, you need to read more Cosmo and less Martha Stewart Living,” she thrust her copy of the magazine into Sansa hands. “Men don’t spill their guts when they talk to us; they reveal little bits and pieces about themselves over a long period of time.”

Sansa glanced down at the cover of the magazine. The headline screamed in bold lettering: _How to Do All The Sex Positions From Fifty Shades of Grey!_

“Oh, gross, Margaery!” Sansa slammed the magazine cover side down on the table, then glanced around to see if anyone saw her looking at it.

“Not _that_ one, this one,” Margaery turned to an article entitled, _How Men and Women Communicate Differently._ ”It’s got everything you need to know in it.”

“Fuck, Margaery, can we just forget the Cosmo advice for a minute?” Loras jerked it out of her hands. “Sansa, honey, you don’t need that. Now, listen to me: opening up slowly is a guy’s way of letting you know their trust in you is growing. First we start off by confiding something small, like where we grew up,  if our parents are still alive and so forth. By the time we invite you over, we figure you know everything there is to know about us! Girl, the most important is to listen to your heart; what is it telling you?”

“That I love him,” Sansa whispered automatically. “That I want to be with him always. That I would marry him tomorrow if he asked me, even though it is far too soon.”

“Shut up!” Loras leaned in with his mouth agape. “Marry him? You want to marry him?!"

“Yes,” Sansa whispered and then buried her burning face in her hands."I do. What is the matter with me?"

“Holy fuck, you’re in love with him!” Margaery jumped up out of her seat, drawing the attention of several customers. She cupped Sansa’s face in her hands. “Loras, our baby girl is in love!”

Sansa could not help the huge smile that spread across her face. “It’s true, I am in love. I love Sandor.”

Just saying the words out loud felt so good to Sansa, as though by giving voice to her feelings a huge burden had been lifted from her shoulders.

“Oh baby girl, we just thought you wanted to fuck him. We didn’t know you were in love with him!” Margaery threw her arms around Sansa, squeezing her close as she and Loras laughed happily along with her.

"But isn't it too soon for love?" Sansa asked uncertainly. "I mean, people say love takes time..."

"Is this your concern or is it what other people might think?"

Sansa wrung her hands. "Other people, I guess."

"Love chooses us, we don't choose it," Margaery took her by the hand. "This is between you and Sandor and what's right for the two of you. Quit worrying about what other people think."

Relieved, Sansa sighed with a smile. "I love him. I know it just as surely as I know my own name."

“This changes everything!” Loras teased, needling her in the side. “You best have Sandor come in for an interview so we can see whether or not he deserves our little dove.”

Margaery shook her head. “No, Sansa, for the love of God, don’t let him know you’ve told us that you love him before you tell him. It will cause a huge clusterfuck between the two of you, trust me. You have to make him believe that you have told him _first_ or he’ll feel betrayed. Men are funny that way.”

Loras frowned at her. “Why should he care?  Sansa’s a beautiful woman and kind, too. As a member of the male sex, I beg to differ, sis.”

“Okay, then,” Margaery rolled her eyes. “ _Straight_ men are funny that way. They don’t like thinking their woman confided in someone else first.”

“Alright, I’ll give you that one,” Loras grinned at her. “Sansa, you best not wait; tell him as soon as it feels right.”

Sansa’s mind began to race. “When would be the right time?”

“Tonight!” Loras and Margaery said in unison.

“We’re going to dinner tonight, but afterward, I will have to go back to class...surely not tonight! I should ask him out on a more formal date, and then I’ll get a new dress and have my hair and nails done, and..."

Margaery said, “Yeah, you better go ahead and wait, but not _too_ long. Go to the salon and get the works done, Sweetie, and have them do some landscaping on your lady bits, too, if you know what I mean. You’ll thank me later.” Margaery winked at her, her implication causing Sansa to blush crimson. “I know I embarrass you, but I don’t have a sister and I’m only telling you what I would tell her.”

“For the love of God, Margaery, if Sandor is the kind of man who cares if there’s a bit of grass growing on the field then he isn’t mature enough to be with a woman as good as Sansa!” Turning to Sansa, he added, “Now seriously, find out his health situation, get protection and then have some fun!”

Margaery tittered excitedly. “From the looks of him, you’re in for a good time!”

Blushing, Sansa lowered her eyes. She did want this with Sandor, there was no denying it, but still she wanted to wait for more of a commitment on his end before she slept with him. Still, she could not help but ask, “What kind of…c-condoms are best?”

Loras shook his head. “Darling, he’s a grown ass man; he should have that situation _handled_. And if he doesn’t, then you might think twice about sleeping with him, no matter how big and built he is.” Loras reached into his wallet, pulled out a small purple package, discreetly placed it in Sansa’s palm and then folded her hand into a fist afterward. “That being said, if you _really_ want him anyway, get this brand, okay? They are the _best_ , trust me, and you can get them delivered to your door from Amazon. No embarrassing trips to the drug store complete with stuffy old Miss Mordane’s glaring, judging-your-life-choices looks as she rings you up!”

Margaery nodded. “Trust Loras, he knows his stuff.”

Blinking, Sansa could hardly believe what was happening. “Th-thank you,” she barely managed to stammer out. She would much prefer to have such personal items sent to the house then face _anyone_ at the drug store.

Loras arched his brow at her before giving her a devilish grin. “You’re very welcome, though I must admit your blushing makes it a bit fun for me, too.”

Rolling her eyes at Sansa’s horrified expression, Margaery added, “Come now, stop that blushing, Sansa. We’re all adults here. You’re to be a nurse, for fuck’s sake, so get over yourself!”

“You’re right,” Sansa heard herself admit weakly. “I do need to stop being so embarrassed about this sort of thing. I doubt I will ever be as straightforward as you two but I must learn to be more open, especially with Sandor. It’s just that, well, if I had my mother to talk to as you do Mrs. Olenna..."

At her admission, Margaery softened at once and pulled Sansa into another warm embrace. “I know, Honey, I know, it’s not the same as having your mother to confide in, but Loras and I can help if you let us. Our grandma thinks the world of you, and I know she would be more than happy to answer any of your questions if you think you would feel more comfortable with her. I know we tease you something awful but Loras and I both care for you very much. Everything you’ve told us will stay just between the three of us, we swear it.”

Loras nodded emphatically. “You just have to have a bit of faith in us is all.”

Deeply touched, Sansa felt her tears begin streaming down her cheeks. “Thank you both so much. I don’t know anyone else to whom I could speak so freely about this.”

Loras hugged her close. “You can always talk openly with us, and even though we talk a lot of shit, we would never talk out of turn about you.”

“Gods, no! Not when it involves Sandor! Who knows what that man would do to us?!” Margaery added dramatically, causing all three to burst into laughter.

The bell chiming announcing another customer turned their attention back to work. To Sansa’s surprise, it was Brienne, Sandor’s friend.

“A venti pumpkin pie spice latte, please,” she softly spoke to Loras, averting her eyes from him. It seemed to Sansa the woman looked as though she would rather turn and run out of the building than talk to Loras. Curiously Sansa moved closer so she could hear what they were talking about.

“I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am for your loss,” Brienne fidgeted with her napkin. “Renly was a good man. Before I met Jaime, I cared for him deeply and I had hoped we could be more than friends; that is, before he came out. Forgive me, I didn’t know about you at the time or I would never have…he had to keep it a secret. ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell’ and all that.” Brienne looked so uncomfortable that for a moment Sansa was sure the woman would burst into tears.

“I know. Renly spoke of you often and thought highly of you, too.” Loras sadly admitted as he placed his hand over hers. “And I thank you for your condolences. If Renly had been, you know, into women, he would have chosen you, I’m sure of it.”

Brienne smiled, though her pain shone deeply in her eyes. “It’s most kind of you to say so. I’m glad Renly had you, that he had love in his life.”

“Thanks.” Clearing his throat, Loras wiped his eyes on his apron and hurried about preparing her order.

Margaery leaned over and whispered, “Brienne and Sandor were with Renly when he was killed in Kandahar. It was their first deployment over there. In fact, they were the only ones to survive that firefight. Though she tried, Brienne could not save him from a suicide bomber, and poor thing, until today she could never bring herself to face Loras. She quit the military over it. He never blamed her, even though he can’t bring himself to speak of Renly’s death; I wish she could know that.”

Sansa dabbed away the tears in her eyes. “That is so terrible. I never had the chance to meet Renly but everyone in town loved him, that much is obvious.” It was true, there were many tributes, photos and memorials set up all over town for the affable young man.

“Oh, he was a character, always joking and laughing! He had a kind word for everyone, and he dressed beautifully, too, and he taught me how. He used to help me pluck my eyebrows and do my nails, too. He was a wonderful brother in law.”

“They were married?”

“Yes, they had a private ceremony. Elder brother, the Buddhist monk who serves as a counselor on the base married them. The government wouldn’t allow it then, you know, officially, but it didn’t matter. Everyone knew they were married, and yet the military wouldn’t even acknowledge Loras as Renly’s spouse at the funeral,” Margaery added sadly. “It was unthinkably cruel.” She turned to Sansa. “Only Sandor acknowledged Loras. He presented him with the folded flag, even though it cost him rank and several more years of active duty.”

Deeply touched, Sansa squeezed Margaery’s arm. “I’m glad he did.”

Margaery shushed her. “You best go over and talk to her before she leaves.”

When Sansa noticed their private moment was over, she approached Brienne. “Brienne! What a pleasant surprise. I was just thinking of you.”

Smiling broadly, Brienne turned toward her. “Truly? Do you have ESP or something, Sansa?”

“No,” Sansa laughed, “Though you are the second person in town to ask me that. I was thinking I would very much like to have lunch with you. When are you free?”

Brienne shrugged. “We could go now, if you like. I don’t have to get back to work until two.”

“That’s only fifteen minutes from now,” Loras interrupted. “Why not stay here? I’ll run out and get sandwiches and you two can eat them here.” Before either woman could speak, the young man was out the door.

“That’s okay with me,” Sansa smiled. “What do you think?”

“Suits me just fine. I usually luncheon in my car.” Brienne took a long sip of coffee. “So, tell me: how is Clegane doing since he returned home?”

Sighing heavily, Sansa shrugged. “I’m no expert but I can say with a certainty that he’s not doing well.”

Brienne nodded understandingly.

“He-he doesn’t want to be in crowded places. He has terrible, frightening nightmares that he believes I can keep away from him. He seems quick to anger.” When Brienne’s eyes grew wide with alarm, Sansa clarified, “Not at _me_ but with others, you understand.”

“I do indeed,” Brienne sighed heavily. “I’ve been there many times myself. He believes you will keep away the nightmares because he feels secure, comfortable, even cared for when he is with you. He would never admit it, but he thinks that love will keep him safe; I know I did.”

“Oh I do care for him, so very much! Please, how can I help him?” Sansa reached out and placed her hand on Brienne’s arm, her eyes filling with tears as she beseeched her. “I am afraid for him but I don’t know what to do, or what he needs from me. Please, tell me what to do and I will do it. I’ll do anything for him.”

“Get him to talk if you can. Listen to him. Show him that you care,” Brienne began. “Be patient. Beyond that, there isn’t a whole lot you can do. Time heals some of it, but the rest, well, I’m afraid he needs to go back to counselling for PTSD.” When Sansa’s eyes widened, Brienne added, “You _did_ know he had been in counselling, right?”

Sansa shook her head. “No.”

“Oh please don’t judge him for it,” Brienne pursed her lips anxiously. “I’ve been to counselling, too. I still go. Sandor’s a good man and a fierce soldier; after what he’s been though-what we both have been through together-it was bound to happen to him, sooner or later.”

Sansa squeezed Brienne’s hands in her own. “I would never think less of anyone for reaching out and getting help. In fact, it relieves me to know he has taken this step before.”

Visibly relieved, Brienne sighed deeply. “We both have seen Elder brother on the base for it. But I should not have broken confidentiality. Please don’t tell him I told you.”

“Oh, no, I won’t,“ Sansa shook her head adamantly. “Nor will I pressure him for his confidence. Sandor should be allowed to tell me himself when he’s ready. Frankly, I’m relieved you both have so much help available to you and that you take advantage of the resources offered by the Army.”

“Yes, well, the Army is much better about treating PTSD than they used to be,” Brienne admitted. “And it helps, the therapy sessions.”

“Would the Army doctors and counsellors allow me to go with him to treatment?” Sansa asked cautiously. “I mean, just to support him?”

“Let me ask Elder brother.” Brienne said after a moment. “I don’t think you can come to group sessions but perhaps he will agree to see you in person.”

Smiling, Sansa nodded eagerly. “I don’t want Sandor to think I’m going behind his back but he needs help and I want to do all I can for him.”

Brienne studied Sansa, narrowing her large blue eyes as she did so. Smiling, she then took her hand and patted it gently. “I can see that you care for him very deeply, Sansa, and I am glad of it.”

Just then Loras bustled back into the coffee shop bearing hot brown sandwiches, cheese grits and two large chocolate cupcakes. “Here you are, ladies, compliments of the house.”

“Thank you so much, Loras!” Sansa kissed his cheek, to which he blushingly turned away.

“Yes, thank you. I’m glad we got a chance to speak, too.” Brienne added somewhat solemnly.

“Me, too.” Loras offered her a smile before he headed into the back to join Margaery.

Sansa and Brienne spent the rest of their limited time together eating, laughing, and talking about their funniest experiences on their respective jobs. Before Sansa knew it, the fifteen minutes was up.

Brienne heartily embraced her before leaving. “Let’s do this again next week.”

“Oh, yes, I would like that very much,” Sansa beamed at her. “Aside from Sandor and those two, I haven’t really made any friends here.”

“Well, you have one in me, Sansa Stark. You’re as honest as they come and kind, too. If you ever need help with Clegane, call me, day or night.” She pressed her business card into Sansa’s hand. “We’ll keep it between us. Goodbye.” Brienne waved as she made her way down the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dressing down-scolding  
> tizzy- a frenzy, a state of anxiety  
> part and parcel-an essential part of a job  
> drop of a hat-as soon as the slightest provocation is given  
> chit chat- small talk, basic conversation  
> rings you up-makes a purchase at the cash register-old fashioned models have a bell that rings when you open the cash drawer.  
> talk out of turn-gossip  
> hot brown sandwich-similar to a turkey club except it is served with a hot cream based sauce poured over it.


	7. Chapter 7

Thrumming the desk with her pencil, Sansa stared blankly at her textbook while the teacher lectured on about emergency medical care. Though required for her degree, she found much of the information tedious, for it seemed to Sansa that emergency room treatment was a conglomeration of subjects she already learned. From what she heard around campus, the real challenge of working in the ER was twofold: being presented with a wide variety of ailments as well as navigating the stressful environment, which was often a learning ground for new doctors.

She had been so wrapped up in Sandor that Sansa had forgotten today was the anniversary of her father's death. It had been eight years ago that she watched as her father was killed right before her eyes at the hands of Robert Baratheon's henchmen. With a heavy heart, Sansa left The Daily Grind and stopped by a florist, where she carefully selected three blue roses.

Later, her only friend from school, Jennifer Running Bear, met her at the local Shawnee sept. The shaman there listened carefully and then provided whole leaf tobacco, birch bark and sage for the old gods of the Starks. The old woman then inquired about her relationships and upon hearing from her classmate about the incident with Joffrey, she gave Sansa a meesawme as well, made with bird feathers, wolf bone, pine needles and a wood carving of a young woman. "Grandmother Kokumthena and Gitche Manitou will watch over you," she promised Sansa, "as will your father, child."

"Thank you," Sansa smiled at her and then kissed the old woman on each cheek. When she got home, Sansa lit the three candles and laid the roses in front of a photograph of her mother, father and Robb before bowing her head in prayer.

"Father, forgive me. I should have offered my prayers at dawn. You left us eight years ago today." She whispered quietly as she made the sign of the cross in remembrance of her mother's faith, then carefully laid the tobacco in front of a picture of her father, lit the sage and birch bark and passed the smoke over the likenesses of her family for the Ojibwa gods of her father.

"May the old gods and the new watch over and keep you, Mother and Robb in the afterlife. I miss you every day, Father, you and Mother and Robb. One day I will return to you but for now I must go on. You have sent me such a fine man, Father, and I am truly grateful. Sandor makes me happier than I have a right to be, and once more I thank you for sending him to me. Please help me know how to help him." Her tears now flowing freely, she added, "He is suffering greatly. Since you have been to war, please share your wisdom with me." Sighing, she squeezed her eyes closed, struggling to still her tears.

"I regret all of the many things left unsaid between us. Though it has been a long time since we have been together, I love you all just the same. Please tell Mother and Robb that I love and miss them, too, and please watch over the boys and Arya so they will be safe. Watch over Sandor when he returns to war and lastly, please protect me from Joffrey. And thanks be to Gitche Manitou and Kokumthena for helping me find the worship of our people so far from home." Sansa made the sign of the cross over her chest once more, staying prostrated in front of the makeshift shrine to her family until the incense burned out and it was time to go to school.

The five minute bell stirred her from her thoughts. Glancing at her smartphone, Sansa noticed the clock read 6:54 pm, which immediately set the butterflies in her stomach in motion. Sansa swallowed hard, trying to maintain her composure. Would he meet her at the restaurant? Or would he come to her school? He would have to wait outside, of that she was certain. Ever since her disastrous reunion with Joffrey, the school posted campus police in the hallways throughout the school. _If he comes here and they make him wait outside, how will he find me?_ Suddenly she was angry all over again at Joffrey.

Upon realizing she had left her cell number on the note she left for him, Sansa relaxed a bit, but only until she heard faint conversation in the hallway. Sansa perked up as soon as she recognized Sandor's unmistakable deep voice with its lilting Scottish inflection. She bent sideways in her seat to get a better look, and the sight that greeted her brought a deep flush to her cheeks.

Dressed in his dress greens and beret, Sandor had stopped for a moment to talk to the security guard, showed him his driver's license, and then turned toward her classroom door. _He dressed up for me,_ Sansa thrilled as she smiled at him, even though Sandor had yet to spot her. When he finally caught sight of her, Sandor's mouth quirked into his usual devilish grin. The other students promptly turned and stared at her, causing Sansa to blush further still.

"Miss Stark, is there something you would like to share with us?" The teacher irritably queried. Just then, Sandor walked through the door, removing his beret as he did so.

"May I help you, sergeant?"

"Master Sergeant Clegane, ma'am," Sandor dipped his head at the old woman. "Pardon the disruption."

Sansa held her breath as all eyes turned toward her once more.

"I've come to see Sansa Stark."

Sansa thrilled at the sound of her name on his lips. _Let them stare_ , she boldly thought and rose to her feet, her actions throwing propriety to the wind.

"Mrs. Lemore, I invited Sergeant Clegane here to meet me for supper. I-I'm sorry if my doing so disturbed the class."

"You did, did you? How did you get past our security guards, Sergeant Clegane?"

"I've served with some of them. Call it professional courtesy." Sandor sneered at her. "Besides, do you really think any of them could stop me?"

"Miss Stark, after what happened I'm surprised at you. As for Sergeant Clegane, he is your…?" She gestured for Sansa to continue.

"He is-he is mine as I am his." Sansa smiled sweetly at him as she repeated the marriage vows of the Ojibwa people. Even though she knew Sandor did not realize the significance behind her words, several of her fellow students of Shawnee descent did. They promptly sent up a chorus of ooh's, ahh's in response. Jennifer shouted, "Ps' qui ah-quoi te-ti." _Your blood runs hot,_ Sansa remembered the meaning from the young woman's own wedded ceremony. _It certainly does_ , Sansa nodded in agreement as she smiled at her. _There, I said it_. Sansa thought triumphantly as she nervously waited for him to reply.

Running his fingers over the band of his beret, Sandor's eyes widened as he stared alternately between Sansa and Jennifer before settling on Sansa once again. The man seemed frozen in place while his mouth twitched sharply as he stared at her, his searing gaze causing her to blush further still. Sansa tried to speak more but her emotional state caught the words in her throat.

Sandor's gaze was riveted to her own as she spoke, and heedless of the teacher, he went to her at once, took her by the hand and kissed her softly, leading to another round of cheers, wolf whistles, gagging noises and applause. Though she trembled in response to his touch, Sansa felt as though a great weight had been lifted from her. _Sandor is mine. I don't care who knows it. One day, he will be my husband._

"You heard her." Sandor growled when the teacher turned to him for confirmation. "I am hers. She is mine. What else do you need to know? Bloody hells, this isn't high school."

" _Another_ beaux?" The teacher raised her eyebrows, the woman apparently oblivious to Sansa's emotional state. "Miss Stark, didn't you have enough trouble with the last one?"

Fury swept through Sansa. "Joffrey was not my _beaux_ , as you say, when he came here and if you remember, he assaulted me," Sansa fumed, the young woman hardly able to speak in her anger. Seeing her distress, Sandor stepped forward and put his arm around her but she could not be still.

"How dare you say such a thing? Sandor Clegane has just returned home from serving our country. He is brave. He is good to me. He protects me as he protects our country. He is nothing like Joffrey." Sansa's lip began to tremble as she spoke. The entire classroom fell silent at her words and the teacher stared agape, but Sansa didn't care.

"Well, I hope this turns relationship out better for you, Miss Stark." Mrs. Lemore demurred. Just as Sansa was about to reply, the the bell rang.

"Hmph," Sansa glared at her before returning to her seat. After gathering her things, she kissed Sandor soundly, took him by the hand and led him outside. She could see Sandor fighting back a smile, but he also looked very concerned.

"Let's go to the truck, Sansa."

"You didn't have to get so dressed up for me," Sansa forced her lips into a smile as she leaned against his vehicle, steadying herself. She ran her hands over his chest while staring admiringly at his ribbons and stripes. "You look so very handsome. What do all of these ribbons and stripes mean? You must forgive my ignorance." She tried to laugh halfheartedly.

"Never mind that. Sansa, tell me truly: are you alright?" Sandor rasped softly. His eyes roamed over her as though he was searching for a visible cause of her distress. Unable to find one, Sandor then took her into his arms. "Talk to me."

"It's just that blamed teacher-how dare she mention Joffrey?" Sansa began to shake.

Frowning, Sandor ran his hands up and down her arms. "It's no hair off my arse what the old windbag says. Calm yourself now. It's alright, lass."

"No, it isn't," she started to cry, "there's nothing alright about that horrible woman comparing you to that-that monster. He doesn't deserve to have his name spoken in the same sentence as yours." She cupped his face in her hands. "I never loved him, Sandor, you must believe me."

Brows furrowed, Sandor's normally keen gaze reflected deep concern as he regarded her. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he carefully wiped the tears from her cheeks before he drew her into his arms. "I do believe you, Sansa but bloody hells, you needn't grovel to anyone, least of all the likes of me. What is this about, lass?" He tipped her chin up to him. "You can tell me. I promise I won't threaten anyone." He offered her a small smile.

Sansa drew a deep breath. "Remember I told you my father and mother have both passed?"

"Aye and your brother, too." Sandor fixed his gaze on her, clearly anxious for her to continue.

"Well, today is the anniversary of my father's death," she sniffed into his handkerchief. "He-he died in front of me-shot by one of his friend's bodyguards."

Sandor's face went pale.

"I think-I think Joffrey had something to do with it-him and my mother's childhood friend, Petyr Baelish. Anyway, today it's been eight years since he passed and I'm just upset."

Sighing deeply, Sandor raised his eyebrow, his eyes narrowing angrily as he held her face in his hands. "You were engaged from such a young age?" He shook his head as she nodded. "You were just a wee lass of twelve then."

Sansa nodded sadly, unconsciously folding her arms and hugging herself.

"More like a bloody arranged marriage, if you ask me." Sandor spat out through gritted teeth.

Sansa shrugged. "I suppose so, when you put it like that. It's a common custom where I'm from. We call it a betrothal."

"I spent enough time in the Middle East to know an arranged marriage when I see one, no matter the culture or the word used for it. It rarely works out, at least for the women, in my experience." Sandor caressed her face with the back of his hand. "He may not have made you follow through, but still, your father was a bloody fool to bargain with one as precious as you are, lass. That inbred bastard Joffrey never realized the treasure he was given."

 _Inbred? What does Sandor mean by that?_ Sansa wanted to ask, but she could not let his comment about her father go unaddressed, so she decided it would have to wait. "My father wasn't a fool, just far too trusting in Robert simply because they were childhood friends as well as brothers in arms," Sansa sniffed sadly, giving voice to her long held unspoken opinion. "Robb was the same, and I am certain Joffrey was at least partly responsible for his death, too. It's a family trait that I share with them, being so trusting, but unfortunately, though, I have learned the hard way not to be."

"Then you are already leagues ahead of both of them, Sansa," Sandor quietly answered her. "A smart one you are and kind, too. Far too good for the likes of me."

"You mustn't say such, Sandor, please." She ran her thumbs over his jawline while caressing both sides of his face. "So, you heard what my class mate said?"

"Aye, something in Shawnee." Sandor leaned down so they were on eye level with one another. "Tell me what she said."

He was so close to her that Sansa could hardly focus. "She said: your blood runs hot. Hers was the appropriate Shawnee reply to what I said to the teacher," her words came out barely above a whisper. "I am yours as you are mine. It is the marriage vows of our people in the north and...and I meant them, Sandor."

Visibly stunned, Sandor's eyes widened and he gently pulled slightly away from her while gauging the truth of her words. Nervously she twirled his handkerchief in her hands, waiting for his response. "I know it was terribly presumptuous and way too early in our relationship for such talk, but-" Sansa's words were cut short, for Sandor pulled her tightly against him, pressing his mouth to hers in a passionate kiss, his lips parting against hers and as she returned it. Groaning, he deepened the kiss and Sansa eagerly matched his movements with her own, sipping at his lips and tongue and pulling him closer to her.

Suddenly he tore his mouth away from hers, resting his forehead against her shoulder as he lifted her into his arms, the man clearly struggling to regain control of himself. "Don't toy with me, girl," Sandor rasped low, gripping her chin and searching her eyes. "Don't say things you don't mean just to-"

"I _do_ mean them, Sandor, and don't presume to tell me what I do or don't mean ever again." Sansa placed her index finger on his lips, the soft tone of her voice tempering her words. "I am yours as you are mine, from this day until the end of my days. One day when you feel ready, maybe you will say the same to me."

"Fuck!" Pushing her away, Sandor then angrily punched a nearby locker. Frightened and confused, Sansa cowered in a nearby corner. _What is wrong with him? Why should he be so angry? He said he wanted me with him-isn't this what he wanted?_ She stayed frozen in place, quietly crying as she stared at him.

Shamefaced, Sandor steeled himself into a forced calm until he settled down in truth after which he held his hand out to her. Hesitantly she slowly accepted his hand.

"Forgive me, I didn't mean to scare you." He kissed her on both cheeks and then her hands. "I would never strike you, Sansa. It's just so fucking complicated-and the timing couldn't be worse. I already told you I do want more with you, but for fuck's sake, the Army is sending me back to hell." He turned to her then, and the pale pallor of his face frightened her. "I've already been there three times. How many deployments do you think I can survive before my number comes up?" He let out a frustrated sigh. "I don't want you to suffer, should that-"

Tears streaked down Sansa's face but she didn't care; grabbing him firmly, she had to make him understand how deeply she cared for him, that she was willing to commit herself to him despite the danger. "Sandor, stop this at once. You must calm yourself, I-"

"You don't understand, little bird," Sandor pulled her close once more, gripping her arms with such intensity Sansa could scarcely breathe. "I might not come back. If I make you my wife, you would be left a widow-"

"No!" Sansa burst into tears. "It's back luck to speak of your own death. Quick, say a prayer!"

"Sansa-fuck, I-" Sandor shook his head. "I don't believe in gods-"

"No, you mustn't say such. Please say a prayer-do it for my sake if not your own!" Her desperation cut through his defenses, for Sandor shook his head, paused a moment and closed his eyes.

When he opened them, Sandor resumed holding her tightly against his chest.

"There, for your sake. But prayer or no, you have to accept what my work might lead to, lass." He sighed heavily once more. "See, this is why I didn't want to get too close to you just yet. The price is just too high for both of us. You can't just stand in front of your class and say you want to be my wife-it isn't so simple as that."

Sandor tried to move away from her but Sansa held firm.

" _You_ are the one who doesn't understand. I know you might not make it back, Sandor; I'm not a fool." She held his face so he could not turn away from her. "I-I don't care about that. The future isn't promised to any of us. I could get hit by a car crossing the street. It doesn't matter when or how either of us pass on to the afterlife, what matters is what is between us now. I've suffered so much loss in my life, Sandor, that I'm not about to miss out on love because of what may or may not happen."

Sandor's eyes were so full of pain that Sansa could barely meet his gaze, and yet something like hope also shone in them as well. His breathing slowed, she noticed, as an otherworldly calm settled over the two of them.

"Please, I know it's very soon and that we don't know everything about each other. There's probably a thousand therapists who would give us a long list of reasons why we shouldn't marry-why we shouldn't even talk about it yet. I'm sure there are plenty of people in this town who would say I am a romantic fool or even downright stupid-but it doesn't matter." Sansa held his hands, her eyes pleading with him to feel the truth of her words. "If it's right for us, if this works for us, then who cares what anyone else says?"

"Repeating my own words back to me, are you?" He smiled sadly at her.

She smiled too. "I want to be with you for as long as we both have here on this earth." Not knowing how else to convince him, she pulled him tightly against her.

Sandor buried his face in her hair and traced circles over her back and sides with his hands, the movement calming to both of them.

She pressed her lips to his ear and whispered, "I love you, Sandor Clegane." Though it felt right, she hadn't meant to give voice to her feelings so soon; the words just slipped out. Unsure of how he would react, Sansa held her breath, waiting.

Seemingly agitated by her admission, Sandor made a choking sound as he pulled away from her, staring with all his might.

"I-" he shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. "I can see the truth in your eyes, Sansa, and gods help me, I can't deny that I feel the same for you, no matter the cost." He pulled her close to him and whispered in her hair, "I love you, Sansa. I am yours as you are mine, from this day until the end of my days, whenever the bloody hells that is."

She laughed then, laughed happily, laughed without a care in the world; Sansa laughed like she hadn't laughed since her father died, and Sandor laughed too as he held her tightly against his chest. _Father answered my prayers_ , she thought excitedly. _This was meant to be. Thank you, Father, for giving me such a man to be my husband._

As Sandor kissed her neck, he ran his hands over her sides soothingly, pressing her body firmly against his own with each passing stroke, his touch progressively fanned Sansa's passions and loosened her inhibitions in the process. Soon, any space between them felt like it was too much for Sansa. Moaning softly, she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer still. "Oh, Sandor…" she whispered hoarsely into his ear.

Suddenly Sandor stilled her movements. "We have time, lass. You need not feel you have to do anything you aren't ready for-I'll not pressure you." He rasped into her hair, his voice thick with desire. "My feelings for you won't change, either."

"Nor mine for you." Sansa pressed her mouth against his, silencing him as she opened her lips to him once again. Sandor lifted her into his arms and crushed her against him as he deepened the kiss further, leaning her against the truck as he did so. When they both came up for air, Sandor opened the door for her.

"Come on, let's get out of here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The burial customs here are a blend of my invention and tradition. Even though they evoke some traditions of the tribes I have chosen, they in no way are meant to be taken as an accurate representation of their religious beliefs. Please forgive me if this causes offense, for that is not my intention. I decided on Indigenous religions because in my opinion their beliefs are the closest to the Old Gods of the Forest in ASOIAF just as I believe Catholicism represents the new gods. For more information on the Shawnee and Ojibwa peoples, please visit this page:http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/664229/Native-American-religions
> 
> I chose the Ojibwa gods to represent the Old gods of the Starks because their lands in Canada are as close to the description of ASOIAF's North as I could get in the modern day world. I also used the Kentucky Shawnee tribe's sept as a means to facilitate the items needed for my invention of the Stark's burial customs.
> 
> Shawnee Sept-a subdivision of the main tribe which acted as a tribe unto itself. Not only did they have their own principal chiefs and councils of elders, but they also controlled their own diplomatic relations with other Indians and Europeans. In addition, each sept customarily populated a primary village named after that sept.  
> Gitche Manitou-Ojibwa's name for the Almighty God, the Great Spirit  
> Kokumthena-Grandmother, the Shawnee word for Creator  
> Meesawme-an amulet evoking the spirits of the tribe, made to protect the owner


	8. Chapter 8

Just as she settled into the truck, Sansa’s smartphone began to buzz.

“What is it? That bitch teacher wanting to apologize for true?” Sandor spat out as he watched her fish through her pack. “She owes you that much, you know. What kind of fucking health care educator blames a victim for her attack? And you know as well as I do that how many men you see doesn’t have shit to do with Joffrey.”

His fury directed at the woman on her behalf touched her, though it also frightened Sansa a bit after how he behaved toward the businessman at the coffee shop. “She should be reported, you know.”

“You’re right, Sandor, of course, but there are a fair amount of women-even in medicine or law enforcement-who still think it’s a woman’s responsibility to prevent a man’s violent behavior.”

Sandor snorted derisively. “Seen plenty of men and women like that in the Army, fucking pricks. They should get into another career or shut the fuck up, one.”

“I agree.” Sansa sighed, placing her hand on his forearm and giving it a gently squeeze. His anger was beginning to scare her. “Please, your anger is understandable and I appreciate the support, but you frighten me with it so let us forget her for now. I’ll handle the teacher later.”

“Good, I’ll go with you,” Sandor added somewhat more calmly. “She’s fucking out of her mind if she thinks I’ll stand by and let her talk to you like that. And that little shit better never come here again if he wants to see another birthday.”

Stunned by the fury, indignation as well as a fair amount of fear for her in his rasping tone, Sansa reached over and caressed his cheek. “Thank you,” she kissed him softly. “I appreciate you support, I do, but please, you frighten me when you speak like this.” Sansa sighed and folded her hands. “One day I’ll tell you about what happened in the Red Mansion and you’ll understand-but that is something that _I_ don’t wish to speak of now.”

She looked up then to gauge his reaction: Sandor’s face was carefully schooled into one of determination, though his jaw muscles clenched so tightly that his lip began to bleed. “I spent plenty of time there, Sansa; you don’t need to give voice to it unless you so choose.” He turned to her then, staring so deeply into her eyes she felt both intimidated and yet exhilarated. “One day, lass, such things won’t trouble you anymore, not even in your dreams, I swear it.”

Before Sansa could reply, her phone chimed again. “The message is from my friend Jennifer, the one who spoke up in class.” Sansa then turned and squinted at the screen. “Our last class was cancelled, something about a snowstorm on the way, so she’s saying we should go enjoy ourselves and forget about everything else.”

Relief washed over him then, and so Sandor grinned and started the engine. “Well, let’s go eat then.”

“Wait,” Sansa smiled at Sandor and opened her compact. “I want to freshen up a bit and I can’t apply lipstick while you drive.”

Puzzled, he raised his brow at her. “Why do you need to do such now?”

Biting her lower lip, she powdered her nose, reapplied her lipstick and smoothed down her skirt, all the while Sandor watched her with equal parts curiosity and annoyance. Averting her eyes from his, Sansa whispered, “No reason, only that I want to look nice for you.”

Sandor leaned over, gripped her waist and pulled her along the bench seat until her thighs rested against his. Wrapping her close, he sighed deeply, inhaling her scent. _I hope he likes the perfume Margaery gave me_ , Sansa mused as she felt him nuzzle into her neck and inhale several deep breaths. The warmth of his skin against her own sent a tingle of excitement through her.

“Fuck, you smell good enough to eat. Might be I’ll have to do that later and have my song from you.” Sandor sighed deeply once more before nibbling along her collar.

Instead of being scandalized by his lewd suggestion, Sansa leaned into him, relishing being surrounded by his hard, heavily muscled arms and chest, the young woman aroused by his bold teasing manner. Unable to resist, Sansa leaned closer still, allowing him to press his manhood against her thigh, and she arched against him.

Suddenly Sandor stopped his ministrations and rested his head on her shoulder, struggling to regain control of himself, his arms shaking slightly before he pulled her against him further still.

“If that bitch of a teacher had looked at you proper, she could have seen you are dressed up for someone.” He ran his nose along her temple, down her cheek and then nuzzled the pulse point on her neck. “You are far too pretty for the likes of me, lass.”

“Don’t say that. I dressed up for _you_ , and you alone,” Sansa sighed as Sandor caressed her legs and upper thighs underneath her skirt. Soon Sandor reached under her slip, taking the time to feel the material between his fingers before running his hands along her hips and then fingering the material of her panties.

Sansa tipped her hips toward him while  giving him more access to her neck, earning an appreciative groan from Sandor. Slowly he ran his tongue over her pulse point, and she felt her body giving in to him. _Not yet, not here in the school parking lot._ Uncertainly Sansa snapped back into the present and pulled away slightly.

“Do-do you like my outfit?” She nervously smoothed down her sweater.

Amused, Sandor unhurriedly moved his hands from her legs, bringing them up to her low back and began tracing his palms over her aqua angora cardigan, toying with the beaded collar as he regarded her. “I do. Soft and feminine, just like you.” He rasped heatedly as he admired her, the lust shining clearly in his eyes.

“I like your dress. I like your hair,” he brushed her Veronica Lake waves away from her eyes. “And I like your stockings.” Carefully he ran his hands down to her waist and hips and then over her legs once again. This time, the warmth of his hands against her skin sent a powerful wave of anticipation through Sansa, her desire overriding her logic and chasing all doubt from her mind.

“You’re a knockout for true, little bird,” Sandor pressed his lips to her ear. “Can’t you feel how much I want you?”

Blushing deeply, Sansa lowered her eyes. “Yes…I can, as I want you. Thank you. I hoped you would find me…attractive. I know I’m a bit more, well, covered up than most women going on dates these days.”

“Margaery tell you that?”

She nodded.

“It gives a man’s imagination an opportunity to get going,” Sandor kissed along her jaw line. “I like that, too.” He looked as though he was ready to devour her. “You’re beautiful, lass, makeup or no, and a sweeter little bird there never was. Don’t listen to Margaery, will you? You have your way and she has hers.”

Laughing, Sansa nodded once more, secretly pleased to hear that Sandor preferred her the way she was. His praise made her glad that she had taken extra pains with her appearance after her prayers.

Unsure of where they would go to eat, she had showered once more, using all the Jacqua buttercream bath products Margaery had given her for her birthday. Afterward she washed her hair and set it in a wave and then carefully put on an aqua lace demi cup bra with matching panties and garters, a cream lace slip and seamed silk stockings.

After she did her makeup, Sansa brought out her most prized possession: an aqua angora sweater with a beaded collar, a matching shantung skirt and cream beaded platform heels that she bought from a consignment shop.

Margaery had stopped by with a box of condoms of the same brand Loras had given her. “Here, doll, have some fun with Sandor,” she winked at her. “I don’t care if that stuffy bitch Mordane glares me down at the drugstore.  Put two in your compact where you keep your powder puff and no one will be the wiser.”

“Oh, good idea.” Sansa hurriedly did as she was told. “I haven’t asked about his health yet. I’m not even sure we’ll…use these tonight.”

Shrugging, Margaery smoothed her hair down. “Better to have and not need than need and not have, as my grandma often tells us. I’m sure he’s fine, Sansa. The man has a body like Roman Reigns and besides, the Army gives soldiers a full physical and any treatment they need on return-if a soldier isn’t clean then, they never will be.” She looked her up and down. “You look like Rita Hayworth in that getup.”

Sansa didn’t think she meant it as a compliment, but the comparison to one of her favorite actresses delighted her. “Really? Do you think Sandor will be pleased?”

“Best take a few overnight things with you,” Margaery smiled at her suggestively. “Even if you don’t fuck him, he might need you to stay, you know, because of the nightmares.”

“Please don’t tell anyone that,” Sansa whispered sadly. “I shouldn’t have revealed that about him, but I just didn’t know who to confide in and this situation with him is a bit out of my experience.”

“Sansa, you mustn’t worry about us blabbing on you. I want you to be happy, and so does Loras,” Margaery touched her on the cheek. “Loras and I have both been through this, and we would never say anything to anyone. Now, pack some comfortable clothes, maybe a robe, socks, toiletries.”

“But Sandor will think-“

“Yeah, that you want to fuck him,” Margaery rolled her eyes. “Just put it in your school satchel.”

The way he was kissing her now, it certainly seemed Sandor would want her to stay over, so she was happy she listened to Margaery and put a few necessities inside her bag. Pursing her lips, Sansa glanced at her pack on the floor. _Did I remember everything?_

“Calling you attractive is an understatement, Sansa,” Sandor went on, the sound of his words thick with desire pulling her out of her thoughts. He yanked her still closer against him and rasped into her ear, the feel of his warm breath on her skin sending a corresponding shiver through her body. “You are the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen. I can barely contain myself around you.”

Her tummy growled low just then, causing Sandor to burst out laughing. “Hungry, are you?” He buckled the lap belt around her waist so she would stay beside him. “Good, I like a woman with an appetite. Let’s go.”

“Where are we going to eat?” She leaned into him, squeezing his huge bicep excitedly.

“My favorite spot. Home.” Sandor raised his brow at her as he turned off the main street onto the familiar tree lined road leading to his home. _Home_ , Sansa giggled to herself, though inwardly she worried his choice had more to do with the fact that he still couldn’t face large crowds rather than a clue to his romantic plans. _Perhaps it is a bit of both_ , she thought, the notion both thrilling and yet bittersweet.

As he pulled into the driveway, delicious, sweet yet savory smells greeted Sansa’s nose. “Oh, you cooked for me!” She clasped her hands together excitedly. “Is that pot roast I smell?”

Chuckling, he removed his beret and shook his head. “Bourbon marinated rib eye steaks, grits and succotash, collards and lemon meringue pie. I have to finish grilling the meat, though.”

Everything sounded so good but it was the lemon pie that caught her ears. “You baked a pie?!”

“No, I got it from the chow hall on base, same with the collards and succotash.”

“The Army won’t mind?”

“The cook owes me one.” Smirking, he shook his head.

Sansa squeezed his arm excitedly. “Oh, let’s eat!”

He let her inside the house ahead of him, then fumbled with the light. Shyly she looked over his uniform. “You look so very handsome, Sandor. You needn’t have gotten yourself so gussied up for me.” Reverently she traced her fingers over his ribbons and stripes. “I’m afraid I don’t know what these mean, but I am certain you received them for your bravery.”

Uneasily he pulled away from her and began taking off his uniform, mindless that she was sitting beside him in his haste to divest himself of said garment. “Some are for engagements I fought, some denote my rank, and some, well, I got them for doing my job.”

Sansa wrinkled her nose, confused, and so he added, “I killed someone before they killed me or my men, that’s all.” 

Shivering involuntarily, she pursed her mouth with a slight nod. Without another word, Sandor’s face darkened as he stared at her, the man clearly trying to read her thoughts.

“Sandor, I’m afraid I may not be able, as a civilian, to understand the full significance of what you just said, but please believe that I do not judge your choices, nor would I have you speak of it more if you do not wish it.” Sansa pulled him close, kissing him softly on the cheek. “But you still look very handsome in this outfit.“ She smiled and cupped his cheek as she looked up at him, eager to change the subject.

“Like it better than my construction clothes, do you?” Sandor’s mouth curled into a snarling grin.

“No, I love your construction clothes, for they show off your…chest and stong build.” Sansa blushed furiously, causing him to laugh outright.

“I didn’t dress up for you, lass.” Sandor ran his hand back over his head. “I went to the base today for more evaluations and to see Elder brother.”

Eagerly Sansa pulled him to the window seat and sat down, biting her lip nervously. Fear surged through her, for she had heard many of the service people had been exposed to chemical and biological warfare, as well as various pollutants from burning oil. “How did it go? Did the doctors find you in good health?”

Shrugging, he pulled off his jacket and tie, avoiding her gaze as he did so. “Physically, yes, I’m okay. They took a bunch of tests and took enough blood out of me to feed a swarm of skeeters.”

Sansa giggled at that. “How are your burns?”

Sandor shrugged. “They gave me some of the medicine you brought over.”

“Good.” Unable to contain her relief, Sansa sighed out loud. “What of your blood tests? Where any of them stamped STAT, did you notice?”

“No, and no more worrying about me, lass. I’ll find out the results in a few days.” Sandor began pulling out his shirt tail from his trousers, exposing nasty scarring along his waist as he did so. “Saw Brienne, there, too.” He added, his eyes darkening to ash as he stared into her eyes.

Glancing down at his old injuries, she had to fight the urge to sooth the scars with her hands, not knowing whether such touches would be welcome just then, especially since Sandor was the one to bring up Brienne and his eyes showed plainly how furious he was.

Deciding to broach the subject first, Sansa took a deep breath. “I saw her earlier too. In fact I had lunch with Brienne today when she stopped by the coffee shop. When I expressed how worried I was about you, she told me about Elder brother.” His eyes turned charcoal at her admission, so hastily Sansa added, “She regretted it at once; she only told me because she thought you already had, and I didn’t pry. But I’m so glad-just so very relieved to know you have _someone_ to confide in, Sandor.”

“I wondered if you’d tell me.” His eyes bored into her own as she spoke. Gritting his teeth, Sandor swallowed hard several times before adding, “Brienne and I grabbed a bite in the mess hall after my appointment. She said you want to go with me to see him.”

The utter bleakness of his tone weighed heavily on her heart _. It’s almost as though he expects me to deceive him, as though he is just waiting for it. And yet I haven’t shared everything about myself with him, so who am I to question his motives?_ _We have a long road to travel toward trust, you and me._

Something within Sansa made her determined to earn his trust, if she could, and perhaps gentle the rage inside him. _I’ll start by ignoring his snide remark._

Hugging herself, she said quietly, “I do want to go, very much so.” Sansa moved closer to him but still Sandor eyed her warily.  _Perhaps touch will speak where words cannot._ Reaching out, she started to unbutton his shirt for him but Sandor covered her hands with his own, gripping her tightly.

“Why would you want to do that?” Sandor’s eyes burned into her own, turning a darker shade of slate, almost black, as he waited for her reply. “Tell me the truth and none of that chirping of yours, now: you want to see if the good doctor thinks I’m losing my shit, is that the way of it?”

“No, not at all-how can you even suggest such a thing?”  She looked down and spied his hound tattoo.  _He is like a wounded dog, ready to bite the first hand that tries to pet him._ His behavior recalled one of Mrs. Olenna's sayings _: If you live among dogs, keep a stick. After all, this is what a hound has teeth for-to bite when he feels like it.  S_ ansa decided then and there she would not follow that. Fighting her temper, Sansa levelly answered, “It is only because I-I care so deeply for you and I want to make sure you get the rest you need. And I cannot bear to see you’re suffering so.” She raised his hands to her lips and kissed each of them. “Let me help you, Sandor, please. I want you to understand, to really feel in your heart, that you are not alone in this.”

He turned loose of her then, and so she went on: ”But do forgive me, for I didn’t mean to go behind your back when I spoke to Brienne, Sandor. Please don’t be angry with me.”

The initial hostility in his eyes dissipated as Sansa continued speaking, and when she finished, Sandor sat quietly, hanging his head for several long minutes. They stayed that way until he met her eyes and kissed her hands in return.

“I’m not mad, lass. No, not mad, just-“ Sandor drew a deep breath. “No one’s offered half so much, Sansa. It’s a hard thing for one such as me.” His jaw tightened. “I’m going to change before I put those steaks on. Make yourself comfortable.” With that he stood and went to his bedroom.

_So my instincts were right-he’s not used to having someone care for him, to offer comfort or be there to give him support when he suffers. What happened with his family? No one has ever esteemed him-is it possible? Maybe his family did not love him-not even when he was recovering from his burns._

Sansa knew enough about wound care to comprehend his scars were old when she first saw them, so Sandor’s misery must at least go back as far as childhood. Some parents were not caring with their children, it was true; she had seen enough of Robert and Joffrey’s interactions to know that, and mental abuse often left scars on souls that were just as severe as the ones Sandor wore outwardly.

 _If not his parents, then what of his sister?_ Younger or older, Sansa could never have been so callous to her own brothers, not even Jon _. He said she and his parents all died under mysterious circumstances; I wonder if the Lannisters had something to do with it. Or perhaps it was his brother…_

Despite the multitude of questions swirling in her mind, Sansa determined she would not pry him for details, for she didn’t like it when people did the same to her about her own family. _He will tell me, when he’s ready, just as I will tell him more but until we both reach that place, this dance between us will undoubtedly continue._

As the house grew silent in his absence, the fireplace crackling in the den called to Sansa. To her surprise, Sandor had bought another sofa, much bigger than the other, and unlike any Sansa had ever seen.

It was rectangular, and the seating areas surrounding a reclining space in the center that was very cozy. Gingerly Sansa sat down on it and then stretched out, marveling at the softness of the brown suede-like material. _He bought this for **us**._ _He took my thoughts about moving in together far more seriously than I expected. Or maybe I’m reading too much into it and he is merely afraid to sleep in his room._

Glancing about, she discovered a few other new items as well: thick furry throw blankets, pillows and a much larger flat screen television. Near the windows sat a previously unnoticed oak dining table and chairs built for two. As she ran her fingers over the detailing, she ascertained the wood was hand cut, and that woodworking was a hobby that Sandor shared with her father.

The sound of Sandor’s footfall led Sansa to look up with a broad smile. “Did you make this?”

He nodded slowly, his own mouth quirking in a small smile that mirrored her own.

“Sandor, my father used to build us furniture too, but this-this is just so very beautiful!” Sansa gushed.

“Aye, beautiful, lass,” he answered, and by the way he spoke, she knew he was talking about her and not the furniture.

“I love it.” A flush of heat rushed to her cheeks. “But you needn’t go through all this trouble for me.”

Shrugging, Sandor brushed her hair off her shoulder, staring at the spot where her pulse quickened every time he drew near. “The other stuff was old, and I’ve been working on that table forever; time it was put to use.”

“And the new sofa?” She raised her brow suggestively.

“I want us comfortable. And I would do far more for you than buy furniture, lass, believe that.” Sandor rasped. Before she could respond, he opened the patio doors leading to the deck. “I’ll get the grill going.”

“What can I do to help?” She stood and walked to the kitchen.

“You can open the wine and pour it.”

Carefully she opened the bottle and let it breathe before filling their glasses and carrying them to the table, which was already set with newer but somewhat mismatched tableware.

 _Just like a bachelor_ , she giggled to herself. The smell of the sizzling meat already filled the room, making Sansa’s tummy growl loudly once more.

Sandor stuck his head in the door. “Are you warm enough?”

“Yes, thank you,” Sansa smiled at him. “Do you mind if I freshen up?”

His eyes travelled over her. “No, go ahead. And you don’t need to ask to use the bathroom, lass; this is your home now.”

The words filled Sansa’s heart with a joy she had not felt since leaving Winterfell. It had been so long since she had a true home of her own, a place she could relax and feel safe. And Sandor’s home certainly felt that way to her, even after just a short period of time.

For a long moment, Sansa felt her words stick in her throat. “Thank you, Sandor-you-you just don’t know what this means to me.” Swiftly she kissed him on the cheek before turning toward the bathroom.

In response, Sandor grabbed her waist to prevent her from walking away, claimed her mouth and slowly sipped at her, nibbling on her lips until they were red and swollen. With a soft moan, Sansa opened her mouth to him, but Sandor merely swirled his tongue with her own for a moment before turning her loose.

Blushing heatedly, Sansa felt like Sandor’s kiss was a foreshadowing of what would come later that night. _He's going to ask me to stay. I am his peace of mind,_ she realized somewhat uneasily. _Yet he fears if he doesn’t keep me close, I will slip through his fingers._ But Sansa loved him, she could not deny it, and if this was the path they had to travel together, she would do so willingly, even gladly, if it meant Sandor would be with her always.

 _Sandor will kiss me again, just as he did earlier, just as he did when we woke up in each other’s arms,_ Sansa thrilled inside as he touched her hair. _Maybe he'll ask for more than kisses but I won't deny him. All this is what I have always wanted and I am his._

After caressing her face with the back of his hand, Sandor finally loosened his hold. After slipping off her shoes, she picked up her bag and headed for the bedroom. The way Sandor stared at her left her breathless and flushed. _If this is how his eyes and lips make me feel, I can’t even imagine what everything else will be like._ _Should I go through with it, though?_ He wasn’t exactly forthcoming about his heath, but Sansa was sure he meant the mental aspect and not the physical. She recalled her earlier conversation with Loras and Margaery. _I do need to stop being so embarrassed about this sort of thing. I must learn to be more open, especially with Sandor._

 _He obviously doesn’t mind making his intentions known, with the dinner and new furniture-my goodness, he bought a sofa so that we could sleep in it together._ She would just have to ask him _._ After washing her hands and fixing her hair, she applied a little more perfume while trying to settle her nerves before exiting the bathroom.  After peering around the bedroom door, Sansa could not resist sneaking a peek into his nightstand. Inside, she saw he had a new box of condoms-the same brand as Loras gave her-and a small bottle of lubricant, the sight of which both relieved her and also reinvigorated the butterflies swirling in her stomach.

Carefully she closed the drawer and turned toward his mirror, which she noticed had a blanket thrown over it. After pulling it down, Sansa stood and stared at her reflection. Tonight she would become his and he would become hers, not just in words, but in body and soul as well, and the idea overjoyed her.

“Little bird, dinner’s on the table.”  She heard Sandor’s voice rasp from the den. Smiling at herself, a sudden calm came over her as she made up her mind: _I am his as he is mine, from this day until the end of my days,_ she whispered to herself before leaving the bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took a bit longer, I have been ill and I accidentally deleted the originally written chapter 8 a few days ago.
> 
> Skeeter: mosquito  
> Succotash: a vegetable dish mixture of lima beans and corn, maybe with a bit of onion and garlic, always some butter, and sometimes a splash of cream.  
> Collards: Collard greens cooked with ham hocks  
> STAT: Medical term, short for statim-immediately or without delay
> 
> One final note: My comment about Sandor's feelings regarding his ribbons is not meant to be a political statement or in any way disrespectful to those in the Armed forces. This is actually a direct quote from my grandpa, who was a highly decorated WW2 veteran. While his medals did give him a measure of pride, they also carried a fair amount of survivors guilt for him, for they reminded him of the men with whom he served who did not live to see their own medals awarded for the same service as he performed. This is what I was trying to get across with Sandor, that while he serves loyally, he also suffers for it.


	9. Chapter 9

A better meal Sansa could not remember. The food was very good and the relaxed atmosphere and easy manner of their conversation reminded her of the family meals she enjoyed at Winterfell. Absently she pressed her fork tines against the meat, as though she were trying to also force down her old memories away from her along with the steak. That all seemed like such a long time ago to her now, almost like something out of a dream, and the memory sent a fresh pang of sorrow to her heart. One day soon, her memories of Sandor would be the same, when he was gone. Sansa did not want to feel that now, she wanted to be happy with Sandor and so she resolutely pushed her thoughts away.  

 _What would Sandor think if he knew how my life once had been before Joffrey? He would probably mock me for it, especially after the bitterness and cruelty that clearly marred his own upbringing._ She would keep her own memories of her childhood to herself for now, for it hurt far less for Sansa to not speak of it than it did to remember. A pain both sharp and dull, one that once experienced could not easily be forgotten, was all she had left of those days, and she would not allow the same misery to sully her memories of Sandor.

 _Will it hurt to remember this night? In January, February, March when I have not seen him?_ She wondered as she watched Sandor shake the snowflakes from his shoulders with a wicked grin, the man oblivious to her dark thoughts. Yes, and a more bittersweet pain she could not imagine. W _hen the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives._  Sansa remembered her father’s words, a portend of the things that came after for her family. Also, it laid bare her future feelings for Sandor as well, for undoubtedly she and Sandor would feel like a true pack after this night, mated for life as both northern women and wolves were known to do. Silently she prayed to her father to still her anxious mind and instead focus on the man he had given her.

Much to her delight, Sandor opened up a bit more to Sansa about his experiences in Afghanistan. It was obvious by his stinted speech and tense manner that it took tremendous effort on his part to do so, and Sansa came to regretfully understand that she was not the only one whose memories were tinged with sorrow. After listening to him, Sansa asked questions thoughtfully, never pressuring for more details that he was willing to offer, and gradually Sandor told tales of close calls and terrible firefights, of lost brothers in arms, and, improbably enough, many humorous experiences as well. All the while, she made it a point of studying his expressions as well as his mood as his spoke, the young woman striving to discern the manner in which he expressed himself as well as commit to memory the many things he shared in hopes that over time, it would help deepen her understanding of him.

No, she would not let the past overshadow this night, or her memories of home, she decided as she laughed heartily at one of his few attempts at a joke. And she wanted to remember everything, the laughter and the happiness both in Winterfell and that was forming between her and Sandor now. She would remember the good times and not close off her heart or force happiness away, despite her fears.

After they finished, Sansa tied a dish towel around her waist, cleared the table and put the dishes in to soak while Sandor served the lemon pie. Smiling to herself, she soon discovered his idea of serving dessert entailed hastily wiping off the dinner dishes with a paper towel and then setting them down to use again for the pie, much to Sansa’s amusement and horror.

“You needn’t clean up now, lass,” Sandor grumbled as he cut the huge pie into four giant slices. “You aren't the bloody maid. I’ll do it later.”

 _Sansa's really Monica Geller,_ her brother Robb used to tease her when she would pick up after the family, and the memory drew a giggle from her throat.

“Sandor, you really don’t know me at all if you can say, ‘ _Sansa you needn’t clean up now, lass,’_ and think that will suddenly allow me to ignore a sink full of dirty dishes and just hang out with you,” she teased, imitating his Scottish inflection and deep voice as she quoted him.

“Oh aye, you like things clean, do you?” Sandor smirked at her.

“Yes,” Sansa blushed as Sandor raised his eyebrow at her. “Don’t you?”

He shrugged. “Depends on who’s doing the cleaning.” Sandor pulled her closer to him. "I liked it when you cleaned yesterday but not now."

”It’s just that, um, well, cleaning helps me relax when I’m nervous.” Sansa bit her lip then, instantly regretting her choice of words.

His deep gray eyes lit up mischievously as Sandor regarded her for a long moment. Suddenly she found herself flush against him, gripped in his strong grasp by the dishtowel at her waist. “I’m sure we can find something else to help you with that,” he grinned at her, kissing her softly at first, then deepening the kiss when a small “hmm” resounded from Sansa’s throat.

Satisfied with himself, Sandor then let her go and held up a forkful of pie to her mouth. “Try this. Hot Pie made it just for you.”

“Hot Pie?" She asked, only to be silenced by a piece of pie being placed in her mouth. "It’s very good,” Sansa murmured, delicately wiping the corners of her mouth as she daintily ate what was offered. “I love all things lemon.”

Grinning, Sandor affectionately seized Sansa’s hands and raised her fingers to his lips, carefully licking clean each one while staring heatedly into her eyes. Smiling, Sansa daringly leaned in and nibbled on his lips once more, the man letting out small contented noises as she did so. When he finally pulled away, Sansa laughed softly as a rush of heat flooded her cheeks, and Sandor’s mouth twitched into a small smile in return, the fierce man clearly savoring her innocent reaction.

“This is the best pie I’ve ever had.” Smirking, he caressed her face with the back of his hand and then placed her plate in front of her.

Turning toward the window, Sansa tugged on his arm. “Come outside, it’s snowing harder!”  Delightedly she held out her hands to him when he hesitated.

“Just about never snows here this early,” Sandor grumbled, looking up at the sky. “Not in October, for certain.”

“Winter is coming.” Sansa whispered her father’s words as she watched the flakes dance in the firelight. Suddenly she shivered, for it recalled the last time she heard those words from his lips.

“Aye but not for a bit yet,” Sandor wrapped his arms around her, mistakenly thinking her shivering was brought on from the cold.  “Come on in, let’s get you warm. Wouldn’t stand for you getting sick standing out in the weather at my place.”

The dichotomy of Sandor’s character astounded her, and Sansa could hardly contain the smile on her lips as she regarded him. He’s so very different now; it is as though he truly does become another man, the Hound, when he or those he cares for are threatened.  Shaking her head slightly, she tried not to be bothered by her somewhat disturbing musings and instead gave herself over to the feeling of happiness he brought to her heart. Swallowing hard, Sansa squeezed his hand and moved toward the couch, casting a shy glance over her shoulder to see if Sandor would follow her.

He did.

“What do you want to do tonight, lass? Look at the T.V.?” Sandor reached out and twirled a lock of her hair through his fingers while raising his brow suggestively at her. Resting against his powerful chest, Sansa snuggled down closer to him; it was beginning to feel cold in the house. She wanted him to turn up the heat but she also didn’t want anything to take him away from her arms right then.

Sandor stared at her red strands, fascinated by them, and Sansa watched as his hands began to tremble as she met his gaze. In Sandor’s eyes she saw desire, certainly, but also fear-fear she might reject him.  Altogether stunned to discover they both were feeling the same thing, Sansa settled her hands on his chest reassuringly.  _I have to quit being so silly about making my needs known._

“I...I,” Sansa bit her lip nervously, at once thrilled and nervous for Sandor’s response.  _I want you to hold me, like you did this morning. I want to finish what we started._

“We can watch television,” was all Sansa managed before she paused, swallowing hard, her nerves clearly catching his attention. “I would like you to..."

“What?” Sandor leaned in closer, the man clearly intrigued by her bashful hesitation. Brushing aside her hair, he rasped into her ear: “Tell me what you want, Little bird. Name it.” Much to her surprise, his voice was devoid of the usual teasing tone that accompanied his words while his eyes watched her as a dog would his treat in the hands of his master: desperate, wanting, and afraid to be denied.

“I’d like you to hold me the way you did this morning when we woke up together. It felt so good…so right; don't you think?” Flinching, Sansa squeezed her hands and waited for him to make one of his jests.

Instead, Sandor took her hand into his own and pressed it lightly over his heart in an almost instinctual manner, all the while never removing his eyes from her own.  “Aye, that it did, lass. Gods knows why you would want such with the likes of me…”

Fear, vulnerability, hope all shined desperately in his eyes, and in that moment, Sansa could not bear to hear him give voice to his self-doubt. She pressed her fingers to his lips, stilling him.

“Because I am yours. I want more. I want everything with you, if you’ll have me,” Sansa reached up to his face, cupping his cheek gently while running her thumb over the scarring, all her doubt chased from her mind as she stared at him. “Tonight, I mean. That is, I mean, if you feel ready, too.” Nervously she giggled, and Sansa was certain her face would explode she was so embarrassed as she waited for him to say something- _anything_.

“So, tell me: how do you remember us this morn?” Sandor rasped low, allowing is eyes to range over her figure, the heat emanating from him making Sansa feel flushed all over.

Shyly, Sansa reached forward and put her arms around him. “Like this.” His eyes darkened as she slowly allowed her hands to begin roaming over his back, taking in the muscles in his arms and the broadness of his his t-shirt clad torso.

Sandor leaned in and hoarsely whispered, “Aye,” as he nibbled at her ear, just below her pulse. Giggling, Sansa sighed under him.

Sandor kept his weight on his forearms, allowing Sansa to rest her palms on his chest and then trail them lower while exploring the hard muscle beneath his shirt. “You weren’t wearing your shirt, as I recall.”

Sandor grinned at her. “True. Best do something about that, then.”

“Come closer to me.” Delicately Sansa moved her fingertips down to his stomach, took hold of the edge of his t shirt, and pulled it up until she could touch the warm, supple muscle of his abdomen. Sandor pushed up on his hands and knelt as he pulled the garment over his head and tossed it onto the cushion.

“No fair, Little bird,” Sandor grunted as he leaned in and pressed his lips against her fluttering pulse just above her collar. “You’re more dressed than me, and far more so than this morning. Might be you should do something about that, too.”

Withdrawing from his grasp, Sansa guided his hands to the hem of her sweater. “Might be  _you_ want to do something about it,” she teased him back all the while forcing down her embarrassment. “Will you help me with this?”

Without a word, Sandor’s hands were under her sweater then, and he let out of frustrated grunt when he reached for her waist and felt her lace slip rather than bare skin. After studying her sweater for a moment, Sandor yanked it over her head, tangling her earrings in the knit until she let out a squeal of protest.

“Never mind, Florian.” Sansa pressed her palm against his chest lightly, settling him back on the sofa. After shaking out her hair, she then removed her earrings and started unbuttoning her sweater.

“Who’s that?” Sandor glared at her.

“A romantic hero in the stories from my home,” Sansa laughed out loud. “Don’t you have such here?”

“Stories about chivalrous knights, I suppose. Bugger that, and bugger Florian to the seven hells, lass,” Sandor settled back among the cushions while his eyes roved hungrily over her as she worked the buttons. Her bravado waivered just then, for his lascivious stare rendered her unable to focus on the job at hand. Before he could take Sansa into his arms once more, she stood and methodically removed both her sweater and her skirt as well. His mouth drooped open as he watched her, the man gaping with all his might until she stood before him in nothing but her slip and underclothes.

When she moved back into his arms, Sandor fingered the lace of her slip ruefully. “Well, you going to leave on the rest?”

“They were on this morning.”

Flushed, her eyes fell to the hardened shape of his manhood jutting out from his pants; Sandor grinned as he followed her line of sight. ”So was I.”

Nervously Sansa took the hand Sandor held out to her and settled onto his lap as she had been that morning, with her cheek pressing against his chest and her hands trailing through the thick hair above his waistband.

“Sansa, gods, lass but you feel good,” Sandor curled around her once more as she leaned forward and trailed light kisses along his temple, his jawline until finding a spot at his throat; when she circled it with her tongue, Sansa felt a sharp tremor wrack his body.

Daringly she laid her hands on his bared waist and glided them slowly over his back, marveling at the muscular feel of him, up over his sides until she could grip his shoulders. Sandor's breath was a quiet moan against her throat, and he tightened his grip on her waist until they were flush against each other among the pillows.

Feather light, Sansa drew her nails down the length of his back, and at once he arched his hips into hers. "Gods, little bird,"  Sandor’s breath came in short rasps and small, content noises by turns until finally he lowered his body onto hers for a moment, pressing his manhood hard against her thigh.

Sansa giggled, flustered and reeling and thrilled, and the sound of Sandor’s responding chuckle made her break into a devilish grin of her own. “Come to think of it, I didn’t have on my slip this morning, though,” she purred against his ear, her words drawing a guttural moan from Sandor’s throat.

Something seemed to break free in the man then and in an instant Sandor’s hands were in her hair and his tongue in her mouth while pressing his body further against hers as he leaned her back into the sofa. At first she was taken aback by his ardor but Sansa found she didn’t mind; in fact, she was both relieved and triumphant that Sandor at last was giving himself over to her as she longed.

With great deliberation, he then kissed her temple, her neck and each cheek before he lolled his head on her shoulder. Sandor’s uneven breathing warmed her bare skin, his fingers tracing the straps of her slip before he pushed them off her arms and over her hips. The sudden vision of her in her bra and panties drew a slew of curses low from the back of his throat as he drank her in. She shivered in delight at his touch and the reaction she was drawing from him. Gently, almost reverently, Sandor laid her down and then pulled her against him before wrapping a nearby throw over their bodies.

“Warm enough, are you?”

Shakily she nodded as she laid her hands on his stomach, her fingertips working their way over the muscles toward the waistband of his pants. Sandor all but fell on her then, his mouth taking her own breath from her as he deepened their kisses until she raked her nails over his back again.

“Sansa,” he brokenly whispered against her neck, “Let me have you, lass.”

"Yes, Sandor, I am yours." Sansa laughed softly. Her fingertips grazed his skin as they traveled back up toward Sandor's neck. The heat emitting from his naked upper body against her skin nearly took her breath away; Sansa never felt anything like it. She was so warm that she eagerly wriggled beneath him, desperate to feel still more of his skin against her own.

Languidly Sandor cupped the back of her head with one hand while his mouth melted against her own once more, nibbling lightly at her lips before gently coaxing them open to accept his tongue. When Sansa eagerly responded, his hands quickly cupped each breast and then unhooked the front of her bra. The coolness of the room kissed her overheated skin, a sensation Sansa barely had time to register before Sandor’s large, calloused hand slid down to cup her breast. Slowly he began running his thumb over her nipple in small circles, causing her to alternately arch into his hand and gasp as he did so.

Staring down at her, Sandor made an appreciative noise before taking Sansa into his arms and guiding her onto her back.

“Gods but you are a beauty.” He licked his lips as he looked her over, desire raging in his eyes. His words warmed her heart, and also made her redden with embarrassment but Sandor didn’t seem to mind. Before she could say anything, he pushed against her once more and began sucking on the firm bud of her nipple, the pleasure of his warm mouth on her tender flesh warming her, and she sighed contentedly in response. Sandor took his time savoring her, the languid pace of his lovemaking at once maddeningly arousing and yet frustratingly not enough for her.  Squeezing her legs together, Sansa let her hands trail down to his waist and before lightly resting them on his buttocks.

She could hear him murmuring against her skin as his lips trailed over her skin. "You're beautiful." "You're perfect." "You feel fucking amazing." Each world swelled her heart but in her emotional state and haze of pleasure, she could not reciprocate.  _Everything feels so good._  Sansa thought to herself as she closed her eyes and allowed herself to be completely enveloped in the sensations Sandor was eliciting from her body. His short hair tickled her neck as his warm mouth lavished attention on her breasts, drawing up ever higher swells of passion.  

Yes, she would remember this, Sansa promised herself, no matter how badly it hurt, no matter how lonely she was when he was deployed. She would cherish it, guard it in her heart and savor it, this precious time with Sandor. No matter the pain, how could she even imagine herself capable of forgetting the immeasurable happiness and pleasure he was bringing to her now?  

The memory of Sandor’s warm skin, the fevered desire emanating from his deep gray gaze, the hardness of his manhood insistently rubbing against her inner thigh would forever be seared into both her mind and heart.  His words of love and commitment, promises spoken as a prayer and whispered softly against her skin as he loved her, would become precious, sacred covenants between the two of them that would irrevocably bind them together while they were separated.

Yes, she would commit to memory these things, these acts of love. She would not fear the pain, but embrace each moment, savor them in her heart and parcel them out to sustain herself during the long winter ahead when Sandor would return to war, and she would return to being alone in the world once more.  _I will treasure them, hold them close to my heart, and memorized every detail of this night,_  she swore to the old gods as he finally slid his hand down her thigh and deftly slipped off her panties with one sweep of his large hand. She was his as he was hers, and she would cloak herself in him, huddle beneath the warmth of his memory and draw strength from Sandor. And she would pray-gods, she would pray as she had never prayed before, that he would return to her safe and sound.

Tearing himself away from her breasts, Sandor lowered his head to kiss her. Moved to tears, Sansa smoothed her hands over his hips and backside and then up his back until she cupped his face and slid her tongue into his mouth once again. Sandor pressed against her harder and then broke away, falling to her side and panting. “Tell me now, Sansa, if you don’t want to go further,” Sandor rasped into her ear. “Tell me now that you aren’t ready, my shy little bird; tell me and I’ll stop.”

Gasping, Sandor’s voice sounded pained as he spoke while he deliberately slowed his movements, stroking his hands over her nude body in an almost worshipful manner, all the while he watched her expectantly. Overwhelmed, Sansa could only stare at him and so he went on: “It’s alright if you feel it’s too soon. I know you’ve not been with a man before. I can pleasure you without-“

Suddenly Sansa answered him by pulling him down onto her once more and pressed her breasts against the solid wall of his chest, warm and soft, and it all felt so wonderful that she pressed up against him still more and wrapped her legs around his waist. “Shh no more such talk,” Sansa kissed his temple softly. “I do want you. And who is to say what is too soon for us?”

Shrugging, Sandor brushed her hair out of her eyes. “Sansa, I’ve been with women before, but never like this…” he gestured between them and then ran his hands back through his hair. “Bloody hells, this is a first for us both, believe that.”

Sansa stared at him quizzically for a moment.  _He’s telling me that love has never been part of the equation in his past sexual experiences._  The realization both startled and touched her even more deeply, and so Sansa reached out and cupped the scarred side of his face and smoothed her thumbs along his jawline.

“Then we will both be first for each other. Let yourself go, Sandor, and leave the fear outside.” To reassure him, she smoothed her hands firmly against his skin and slid them back down to his waist before squeezing his sides.

Chuckling in relief, Sandor rested his head on her shoulder as he squeezed her against him and then moved lower, making space for himself between her legs as he trailed kisses from her breasts to her stomach. Sansa expected he would stop there, but he did not; slowly he traced his finger over her folds, teasing her, and then stopped as he stared into her eyes. “Then let’s take this to the other room; what say you?”

“Aye,” Sansa giggled teasingly. Grunting, Sandor swatted her bottom as he easily lifted her over his shoulder and carried her to the bedroom.


	10. Chapter 10

In the past, whenever Sansa had imagined the night she would lose her maidenhood, not once had she pictured being thrown over her lover’s shoulder and hoisted into the bedroom like a sack of potatoes; yet that is exactly what Sandor did.

There had been a roaring fire in the den, plus they now had lots of furry throws there, too. “Why do we need to go in the bedroom? It’s warm in the den.” Sansa grumbled as he carried her down the hall. He swatted her on the bottom again playfully, although Sansa was surprised to discover there was something strangely erotic about it as well. The sight of the nightstand immediately called to mind what she had seen in his drawer, and the connection between those items and what she was about to do with him brought a deep blush to her cheeks.

“I needs a few things in here, that’s why.” Sandor grunted against her skin before kissing her delicately in the spot where her hip met her thigh. “We both do.” The feel of his scarred mouth so close to her woman’s place sent a pleasurable shiver through Sansa’s entire body.

With a delicacy surprising in so large a man, Sandor pulled back the down coverlet and settled her down on the bed. The icy sheets beneath her were in such contrast to her warm skin that she gasped audibly. Leaning down, Sandor kissed her softly, unhurriedly, the intimacy of the gesture rendering her suddenly bashful.

“Cold, are you?”

Biting her lip, Sansa nodded while trying to fight the urge to cover herself.

The previous playfulness in Sandor’s mood seemed to dissipate as he moved about the room, lighting a candle next to the bed and then turning up the dial on the heat. Anxiously she began fussing with the sheets as she waited, the rustling noise sending Sandor’s eyes darting toward her then, a small smile curling on his lips as he watched her carefully arrange the bedding around her.

With a shy smile, Sansa held her arms out to him. It made her feel childish to do so, but at once Sandor was beside her on the bed, and it was clear that she had his full attention. He returned her gaze with a broad grin and he stroked his finger over her cheek before kissing her lightly on the mouth.

Unhurriedly Sansa leaned over to curl her fingers under the waist of his pants. Drawing in a sharp breath, Sandor lifted his hips and she pulled the last of his clothing off, kicking at the material as she went. She giggled shyly as she removed his legs from them, freeing him completely and finally Sansa allowed her eyes to fully take in the entirety of his naked form.

There was no denying that Margaery had the right of it; Sandor was indeed built like Roman Reigns and even more magnificent when completely nude. Fascinated, her eyes drank in his heavily muscled back and chest which tapered into a small waist and his stomach. Nestled in a thick thatch of black curls between his powerful thighs, his manhood stood out away from his body, curving upward and resting just below his belly button.

 _Goodness, he seems far bigger than an average man._   Sansa decided this was normal, seeing that Sandor indeed was larger than most men in all respects. Quietly, Sandor settled on his back, allowing her to get used to him, and then gently he laid her in between his legs.

When she continued to gawk at him, frozen, Sandor finally rasped: “Ever seen a naked man before?” His voice was a heady, equal measure of desire and amusement.

“Of course, I have. I might be a virgin but I don’t live in a cave.” Sansa answered petulantly, pouting as she spoke. She didn’t want him to think she was a complete innocent just because she hadn’t been with a man.

“I-I am a nursing student, Sandor, and I’ve seen my share of them at school.”

“At school?” Sandor growled at her, biting her neck before leaning back among the pillows. “Me and that teacher will have plenty to talk about come Monday, you best believe that.”

“Not like that,” Sansa swiped at his stomach playfully. “In lab and in textbooks.”

Throwing back his head, Sandor laughed heartily then. “This is quite a bit different, lass.”

“It certainly is.” Sansa nodded distractedly as she gingerly allowed her fingers to trail over his thighs and up toward his manhood, the movement silencing his jesting at once. A heavy amount of moisture had formed at the head, signaling his arousal, and Sansa delicately touched the tip of his penis with her finger, marveling at the softness she found there.

“Fucking hells,” Sandor swore low, squeezing his eyes closed and shuddering as Sansa continued her innocent exploration.  Gingerly she ran her finger down the underside of his shaft before bringing it back around the head once more. Sandor shuddered again with a moan.

“Am I hurting you?” She asked, suddenly concerned.

“No,” Sandor gasped out, panting through his mouth as he struggled to control himself. Glancing up to gauge his reaction, Sansa saw that Sandor’s eyes had rolled back, his head lolling as he arched his hips toward her hands.

She decided she liked having this measure of control over such a fierce man as Sandor. Feeling braver, Sansa carefully spread his wetness over the entire head of his penis, her actions drawing a long gasp followed by a deep moan from Sandor’s throat. Before long, there was far more wetness there, Sansa noticed and so curiously she dipped her head to taste him.

Curling around her, Sandor’s thighs trembled and he let out a sharp cry as Sansa inexpertly flicked her tongue over his head. _He tastes salty and masculine and so very wonderful,_ she thought as she experimented with taking the tip into her mouth, hoping that her boldness would not offend him.  

“Gods,” he panted louder, then moaned and restlessly tossed his head from side to side as she continued to alternately taste and rub his member with her fingers. The sounds coming from his throat made it seem as though she was doing something right and so encouraged, Sansa continued fluctuating between lightly suckling and licking the head of his penis and stroking him.  Realizing she was neglecting his testicles, Sansa palmed them carefully with a light squeeze.

Unexpectedly Sandor pushed her away, his entire body shaking heavily as he abruptly grabbed her hands. “Fuck, it’s been too long-I’m going to come,” Sandor managed to gasp out when he saw her startled expression.

“Well then, come,” Sansa purred while taking his member in both her hands, squeezing lightly before giving him another long, slow pull. Her effort was quickly rewarded by the feel of warm liquid spilling over her hands, while his hot breath warmed the crook of her neck with each moan. Shuddering once more, Sandor then fell back onto the pillows, his entire body trembling as he did.

She knew she should be embarrassed or at the very least shocked but Sansa was none of those things: the very idea that she had given something so enjoyable and intimate to the man she loved thrilled her. Delighted, Sansa turned to Sandor with a big smile, the young woman clearly pleased with herself.

“Oh, Sandor-I feared I would not please you, since I know so little.”

After gaping at her, Sandor finally rasped out, “You know plenty, lass.” His breathing slowed. “Bloody hells but you made a fool of me. I haven’t done such I was a lad.” Sheepishly, Sandor grabbed a towel from his dresser and gently wiped her hands.

“But that’s good, right? I mean, isn’t that what is supposed to happen?” Sansa wrinkled her nose, confused by his apparent mortification.

“Aye but not so quick, and not before you had your own pleasure, Sansa.” Sandor leaned over and growled into her neck. Affectionately he kissed the back of her neck before making his way over Sansa’s shoulder and down to her breast once more.

“We have all night; let’s just let things happen as they will,” she said quietly, running her hands over his shoulders as he settled in between her legs while kissing each nipple.

Leisurely Sandor tasted her while he caressed his hands down her body. Murmuring contentedly, Sansa curled into him with each movement, for her body wanted more of Sandor, more of his touch, more of everything. Something was building within in, calling to her, throbbing in her core and begging to be satisfied. With each touch Sandor was creating such a haze of pleasure that Sansa was stunned to feel his tongue, first on her breasts move low on her belly and then tease her folds, the feeling so delicious and intense that she cried out with abandon at the motions of Sandor’s tongue.

Sandor made contented noises, humming against her flesh as he explored her with his mouth. Slowly Sansa felt herself letting go, though the wetness pooling between her legs made her momentarily self-conscious until she realized Sandor savored the taste of her. With every pass of his tongue, he made a low “ah” noise and then suckled softly on the nub at the apex of her thighs.

”Sweet,” Sandor breathed against her tender flesh, the warmth of his skin washing over her. “So very sweet, Little bird, just as I knew you’d be.”

Panting, Sansa tried to answer him but all that managed to come from her throat was a long moan.

Somewhere beneath her, Sandor chuckled. “That’s it, lass; sing for me.”

Gripping the sheets, Sansa arched herself toward him, her hips falling into a rhythm that matched the movements of his tongue, until suddenly the most exquisite sensation she had ever known washed over her. In that moment she felt Sandor thrust his index finger inside and began stroking her in a rhythmic motion until Sansa cried out again and again, only slowing his movements when she shuddered out her release and then steadily increasing them again until she reached another.

When the sensation became too much for her, Sansa pulled away, her folds now swollen and ripe and pleasantly tender.  Ripples of pleasure flowed through her as she lay panting, her woman's place still contracting with the residual pleasure of her orgasms. Sated, she watched as Sandor moved over her and reached into the nightstand. His member was swollen and wet. She watched, transfixed, as he rubbed his fingers over her woman’s place once more and spread the wetness over his penis, then gave himself a long stroke, groaning and tipping back his head before he slipped on the condom.

“We won’t need anything else but your own sweetness,” Sandor whispered against her breast as he climbed back beside her. Gently he caressed the inside of her thigh, dragging his fingertips along her tender flesh until he nestled them between her slick folds once more. “Fuck but you’re wet and ready.”

“Please, please,” Sansa whimpered, begging him, her entire body trembling at the thought of what he was about to do. _Take me, make me yours_ , Sansa tried to articulate her words but she could not. “I need…”

“What?” Sandor breathed into her shoulder as he positioned himself at her entrance. “Tell me. Say it.”

Sansa was unsure if he wanted her to try dirty talk just then, as Margaery told her some men enjoyed, but all she could manage was: “Sandor I need you inside of me.”

At her words, Sandor thrust into her slowly, his forearms shaking with restraint as he alternately cried out her name and swore as he did so. Her inner muscles tightened around him so that when Sandor finally was sheathed inside of her, he could hardly move. 

Burying her face in his neck, Sansa squeezed her eyes closed and wrapped him tightly against her, expecting a pain that did not come. Instead she found that when filled up by Sandor, the expectant throbbing of her woman’s place melted into the singular sensation of being completely joined to him that brought her body to the edge of bliss as he began to move.

Sighing, Sansa wriggled beneath him contentedly. Above her, Sandor froze, frustrating Sansa since she was becoming anxious for him to move.  With a long moan Sansa pressed her hips into his, hoping to signal her eagerness to him. When still he did not move, she wrapped her legs around his waist and tilted her hips, drawing his manhood still deeper into her body.

“Sansa, gods, lass, you feel good,” Sandor kissed her brow tenderly before she heard his rough voice pleading, “Look at me.”

Glassy eyed, Sansa fixed her eyes on Sandor’s own deep gray regard and as soon as she met his gaze, he started thrusting into her, slow at first and then measuredly picking up the pace, all the while watching her eyes.  The intimacy of it nearly took her breath away, and Sansa felt tears prick her eyes as she watched him in return.

As the pressure began to build in her core, Sansa clumsily tried matching his cadence, and even though she felt horribly awkward, the sounds she drew from him with each movement of her hips told her that Sandor was pleased with her just as she was. Soon the pleasant throbbing ache began inside her as Sandor pumped his hips into her faster and harder, groaning as she whined and rolled her head in ecstasy.  

“Sansa,” he panted into her ear. “Are you close?”

With the myriad of sensations washing over her, Sansa couldn’t be sure; it was hard to single out one delicious feeling among the many delights his body was giving her. Before Sansa could answer, Sandor reached between them and caressed the place between her legs with his calloused fingers that he previously had with his tongue, working small circles there until her pleasure became as centered and acute as it had been when he loved her with his mouth and fingers.

Suddenly everything came together within Sansa at once, culminating in a pleasure unlike any other that exploded inside of her. Overcome, Sansa veritably screamed out his name, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she completely surrendered to the passion surging through her entire body. Shuddering, she felt her woman’s place clench tightly against him once more until Sandor’s manhood pulsed deep inside her.

Throwing back his head, Sandor cried out several times, his body quivering with each satisfying pang. Panting, he then collapsed against her breast, and to her utter surprise, Sandor began trembling for true. Soothingly Sansa encircled him with her arms, unsure what to do next.

“I love you, Sandor.” The words just slipped out of her mouth. Biting her lip, she held her breath for his response.

For a long moment Sandor remained silent. Confused, Sansa began to worry that she did something wrong until she felt the wetness of his tears dampen her skin. “As I love you, lass,” his inaudible whisper reverberated against her flesh. “You’re more than I ever allowed myself to think I could have in this life.”

“You are the same for me, Sandor, you must believe that.” Sansa’s own tears kissed her cheeks. “And we have a lifetime of togetherness ahead.”

Sandor remained silent then and pulled her closer still, resting his head in between her breasts. Once the upheaval of the moment had quieted between them, Sandor eased off of her and gathered her into his arms, laid her against his chest and stroked her skin as their breathing slowed to a normal pace.

Though seemingly calmed, Sandor continued to grip her painfully, as though he were afraid she would somehow escape his grasp, but Sansa understood. They had just discovered something beautiful and special together, an oasis, and for two damaged people such as them, a fragile, delicate peace that neither of them wanted to disturb.

After losing her family, Sansa appreciated it all too well, the desire to not let go of someone who gives you the precious gift of love. Nestling down against his chest, Sansa soon began to dose off, soothed by the feeling of Sandor’s calloused fingertips slowly tracing circles over her low back and the feel of his steady heartbeat against her ear.

Before long, Sandor’s worried words reached her ears, awakening her. “Sansa, I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No,” Sansa propped herself up on one elbow, smiled and then leaned over and kissed him.   _He must have seen the blood on the sheets._ “You have made me so very happy, Sandor. I am completely contented.”  

When he still frowned, Sansa wondered how he could even ask such a thing, given the sense of wonder she felt at the exquisite delight his body had provided her.  Just as she was about to ask him about it, he carefully moved out from under her and went to the restroom. When Sandor returned, he set a warm basin of water and a cloth on the nightstand and proceeded to clean the maiden’s blood from her thighs with gentle, even strokes. “You aren’t in pain?” He raised his eyebrow at her.

“No, not at all. In fact, I am very sleepy.” Sansa leaned back and gazed up to the skylight as they sunk against the pillows. “Sandor, I love you. Now, come to me,” she held out her arms once more to him. “Come here and relax with me. Look at that.” She pointed up to the skylight. “The stars are peeking through the snow clouds.”

"My little bird." Sandor whispered against her temple as he stroked her hair. They lay entwined in each other’s arms, exchanging kisses and caresses while watching as the clouds move above them suspended, until the moonlight vanished and thick snowflakes began to fall once more. Eventually, Sandor's grip on her body loosened and his breathing became deeper.

Cautiously Sansa turned on her side so she could watch him as he slept. Sandor loved her and she loved him and no matter what the future held in store or what the gods had planned for them, Sansa was grateful for this moment with him. As she brushed the hair away from the scarred side of Sandor’s face, she gave a silent prayer of thanks to both her father and mother’s gods for bringing them together and uniting them as a man and a woman, in body as well as heart.

Sansa must have dozed off, for the next thing she knew Sandor was holding her tightly, gathering her together with the sheets and down comforter in his arms.

“What is it?” Sansa whispered against his chest. In the dark she could not make out the expression on Sandor’s face but she felt tension in his body, now pulled taut. Reaching out, Sansa cupped his cheek. “Sandor what is it? Did the heat go out?”

“No, we’re going to the den.” His voice sounded strange, forced.

“I can walk-“

“No, I’ve got you, lass,” His fingers dug painfully into her hip and so she submitted. Not knowing what else to do, Sansa ran her hands soothingly over his shoulders. “Alright, let’s go to the sofa then.”

Without a word Sandor then lifted her easily and carried her into the den. Avoiding her questioning gaze, he methodically nested her down among the bedding before curling his body around her protectively.

“I’ll keep you safe,” she felt him whisper against her neck. “No one will ever hurt you again or I’ll kill them.”

“I know, love.” Sansa kissed his chest. “I know.”

Nuzzling into her hair, Sandor didn’t answer. After pulling her back tightly against his chest, he wrapped both arms around her waist, and soon, Sansa felt him settle into a sound asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

After Sandor fell asleep, Sansa laid awake a long time listening to the sound of his deep steady breathing. Eventually the rise and fall of Sandor’s chest against her cheek harmonized with his inhalations as Sansa gently stroked his sides. Glancing outside, Sansa watched as the snow continued to fall. It is a sign from Father. Winter is coming for both of us but we will survive; the Starks always have.

 _Sandor I love you. I want to help you. I want you to be healthy-I want us to be healthy._ Sansa repeated these words like a prayer, hoping her father would help her know how to reach him. Admittedly it was difficult, however because Sansa had no idea the source of his suffering. Having served so many deployments undoubtedly had taken its toll, but Sansa had the gnawing feeling there was more to it.

 _What compels Sandor to bring us out into the den? Why can he not sleep in the bedroom?_ It had nothing to do with physical comfort, of that Sansa was certain. Everything seemed fine when they were in there: they made beautiful love and afterward Sansa was warm and contented, and fell asleep peacefully in his arms. Then in the middle of the night Sandor wanted to move.  

It really didn’t matter to her where they slept; the den was cozy and warm, and the new sofa Sandor had bought was actually more comfortable than the bed; it was the terrible fear in his eyes, his shifting manner, and the almost panic driven need to move her that worried Sansa. Is it actually the bed itself or the room that disquieted him? Though she could not place her finger on it, there was something in his manner that made her wonder if it was indeed his experiences in Afghanistan or something else that haunted his sleep.

Intermittently Sandor shivered beneath her, cursing low at some unseen enemy, tossing his head and mumbling in his sleep until the man would pull her still closer to him, rendering any real rest impossible. Uncertain if she should stroke his chest to sooth him or lay still least her actions trigger the deadly inner warrior or a knee jerk survival response from him, Sansa decided she would remain as immobile as possible.

When she stirred beneath him, Sandor awakened at once. “What is it? You hear something?”

“No, love, I heard nothing. Please, go back to sleep. It’s still early.” Sansa turned over onto her side and snuggled down against him.

“Are you sure?” Sandor glanced around the room several times before studying her face. “Tell me truly.” Without waiting for an answer, he went to the gun rack and jiggled the lock. Stifling a gasp, Sansa gaped at him, then hurriedly schooled her expression into one of passivity when Sandor caught her reflection in the glass.

“There was no noise, Sandor, only the quiet of the snow,” Sansa whispered, hoping her quiet tone would calm him. “If I heard anything out of the ordinary I would wake you. Now, come back to my arms.” She waved him toward her. “It’s chilly.”

Sniffing, Sandor paused and then threw another log on the fire, watching as the flames licked at the dry tinder.

“Is that balsam?” Sansa padded over to him, wrapped her arms around his bare body and squeezed him close to her.

“Aye and cedar and cinnamon. It’s only for the scent and doesn’t throw off heat for shit.“ Sandor laid his large hands over hers at his waist. “A trick of my father’s.”

Sansa inhaled deeply and nestled her cheek into his back. “It smells so lovely.Like home.”

“You’re already chilled, lass,” he smiled then, turned and picked her up. After tucking her in among the coverlets, Sandor settled down beside her.

“You were restless in your sleep,” Sansa brushed the hair away from his eyes. “Did you have nightmares?”

“Some.” Sandor clenched his jaw tightly, and Sansa watched his neck muscles work as though he struggled to swallow.

“I’m sorry,” she allowed her lips to graze his cheeks. “Did you dream of the war?”

“No, not of the war.” Sandor cleared his throat. Sansa did not press him, merely drew his arm around her waist and began caressing his knuckles with her fingers. The movement seemed to calm him, and so after a bit, Sandor offered: “Of my brother.”

That caught her attention. “Your brother who just recently passed?” She sat up and rolled over onto him. Avoiding her gaze, Sandor gripped her hips and adjusted her position so that her woman’s place pressed firmly against his hardened manhood, the movement bringing a deep “hmmm” noise from Sandor’s throat as he did so.

He didn’t have on a condom, and the feel of his bare member caressing her intimately immediately distracted her. She knew she should at least have him put on protection but since he made no move to go further, Sansa allowed it, and decided to focus on what he was about to say. She sat astride him and smoothed her hands over his chest soothingly, waiting for him to speak.

“Yes,” Sandor finally answered; and it seemed he forced the words from his throat. “Gregor, his name was Gregor. I dreamt he came back here. I don’t know why, he never came to this house when he was alive-never even knew where I lived, I made damn sure of that.”

Nodding, Sansa stroked his chest in broad circles, hoping to comfort him where words could not. “I’m glad you’ll never know him, Sansa. Glad that death took him before you came into my life, though I wished I had killed him myself.” Restlessly he moved his thighs beneath her, and so Sansa lowered her head to his chest and kissed him tenderly, wanting him to feel safe to express himself with her, even the darkest of thoughts, without judgment.

Told in his blunt way, Sandor’s assertions were devoid of emotion, even brutally murderous. The darkness with which he uttered the words frightened her.  Something horrible happened between Sandor and his brother, that much was obvious, but Sansa neither could bring herself to ask for details nor think of words that would ease his misery.

 _Love will build a bridge between our hearts if you let it_ , her mother used to say, and so Sansa hoped that displaying her affection would speak to Sandor in ways where words might fail. Resting her cheek against his stomach, Sansa closed her eyes, praying silently, until frightening images suddenly flashed before her eyes.

A flaming brazier in a castle made of stone spilled over, setting the cobblestone flooring alight with glowing coals and ash. Two boys, one large and fierce, the other much smaller, struggled until the bigger one gained the mastery over the younger, drug him to the hot coals and pressed his face into the fire. The smaller boy’s agonizing screams cut painfully in her stomach, and Sansa squeezed her eyes closed; when she opened them, she saw on the floor lay a discarded GI Joe action figure, similar to one her brothers played with at home.

Gasping in pain, Sansa finally shook herself out of the reverie, raised her hand to her chest and clutched her heart as her whole body trembled violently.

Alarmed, Sandor sat up and worriedly examining her for signs of injury or sickness. “Are you ill? In pain? What is it, Sansa?”

“No, I…” she stammered, the young woman both unwilling and unable to tell him that such visions were an intuition of sorts, a gift Sansa had from the time she was twelve. They began not long after her naming ceremony and intensified dramatically after she lost her beloved wolf Lady, the namesake of her cat.

 _Just tell him,_ her father whispered into her ear. _He is a part of you, and you a part of him now. Tell him, lass._

“Sandor, I know this sounds very strange but please, bear with me.” His curiosity piqued, Sandor sat up and put his arms around her. “As you spoke, I just had a sudden series of images flash before my eyes.”

“Imagines-what do you mean? Of what?” Sandor paled while staring intently at her.

“There were two boys in front of a brazier in a stone keep, and from the style of it, it seemed to me that it was in Great Britain. Anyway, they struggled, the boys did, as one tried to hold the other into the flame, and they knocked over the hot coals and sent them spilling onto the ground.” She took his hands in her own. “The younger one screamed, and the sound sent a corresponding wound straight through my heart. The boy…he was you.”

Recoiling, Sandor began to shake. “No one knows that, Sansa, no one. How the fuck-”

“The story of the boys…it is your story, isn’t it?” Tentatively she reached out to cup his cheek. “I know you want to deny it but I can feel it even as I look at you. Your brother, Gregor, he is the one who burned you.” Suddenly Sansa’s eyes grew bleary with tears she did not realize were falling form her eyes.

His fist grabbed her wrist in an iron grip; Sandor was clearly undone by her uncanny knowledge, but true to his word, he did not hurt her. “How do you know such?” When she hesitated, he inclined his face closer still and growled low. “How?”

“You won’t hurt me, but I’ll not have this,” she whispered softly as she removed his hands from her. “Let me up, please, until you calm down.”

“No, Little bird, I won’t hurt you-how could you fucking even think that? You’re the last person I would ever hurt.” Frowning, Sandor turned loose of her, gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, and breathed in deeply from his nose.

Trembling, Sansa started to move away from him. “Because you scare me when you’re upset, I already told you earlier. You hold me too tight, you say scary things-I don’t like it. I won’t have it, either.”

Nervously he sat up, staring at her with all his might.

“I won’t abandon you, and I will help in any way that I can.” Sansa went on. “But if we are to build a loving, long term relationship, then I need you to learn a better way to cope when you’re upset.” Sansa spoke firmly, though when she saw his sheepish expression, she no longer had the heart to remove herself from his grasp.

“I will, lass, for you.” He sighed once more, and Sansa felt a sharp tremor move through him as he spoke.

“For yourself,” Sansa gently corrected.

He nodded. “I’m not upset with you, Sansa; just surprised as fuck. I swear I’ll work on it. Forgive me,” Sandor wrapped his hands around her waist, entwined his fingers and pulled her closer, the movement at once reassuring to her. “Tell me how you know this.”

“I cannot say for certain.” Sansa anxiously wrung the throw blanket as she spoke. “It’s a gift known to exist within my family, though in the North it is considered natural, a blessing, even. I-I didn’t mean to pry into your business with it or spy on your past-it just happened. It’s been a lifelong frustration that I don’t have any measure of control over it.”

“I hold to no one set of beliefs myself and that a man makes his own destiny. But my mother was said to have second sight,” Sandor spoke evenly after a moment. “We teased her about it for years, but she knew my sister Elinor had died long before her body was found.”

Sansa squeezed his hand but Sandor merely shifted his gaze and continued: “Seen it with some of my men on the battlefield, too. Overseas plenty of men around me predicted their own injuries, had funny feelings that helped them escape by the skin of their teeth. Some even foresaw their own deaths weeks in advance.”

“Really?” Sansa asked, leaning in closer. She did not know continentals, as the people referred to those who lived in the lower contiguous states, had such experiences.

She heard her father say such many times but somehow she had believed it only happened to him because he was a Northerner that perhaps the old gods had spoken to him due to the danger he was in during battle. It alarmed her to imagine the extent of the horrors Sandor experienced in his life and despite his distinct ferocity as a soldier, she was frightened for him, not of him.

“Why would it happen now?” Sandor pursed his lips. “What do your Northern gods say of such?”

Sansa bit her lip. _Just tell him,_ her father whispered once more. _He is a part of you._

“You needn’t hide your faith because I don’t share it.” Unsuccessfully Sandor tried to hide his annoyance and impatience as he waited.

“Well, my ancestors believed that northern women are bonded to their mates in the sight of the gods from the time they say their vows for the commitment ceremony. These are the same words, as you recall, that we said earlier at school.” She felt Sandor’s fingers tracing small circles over her back once more, reassuring her. “I believe there is power in such promises, that the gods hear our prayers and act accordingly. And that we are bonded now, in both body and heart and this,” Sansa gestured between them. “This is proof.”

They remained in companionable silence for a long time after Sansa finished speaking. Finally Sandor spoke up. “It’s a bit of a relief not having to voice it to you; I’ll say that much.”

Sansa knew he was studying her, trying to gauge her reaction. “I understand, I truly do. It’s easier not to…speak of sadness, suffering or pain than it is to put it in words.” An involuntary shudder surged through her and Sandor pulled her against his chest in response. “But I don’t want it to be this way between us, either, Sandor. It isn’t healthy for us to hide from each other whenever something hurts and let anger and silence become the norm. I want us to find a better way.”

“Then we will go to Elder brother tomorrow,” Sandor whispered against her forehead. “He can help us.”

Sansa’s face lit up excitedly. “Truly? You’re willing for us to go for counselling?”

“Aye, lass,” Sandor brushed her hair away from her eyes. “I might not be one of those men who gives flowery speeches and the like but even a brute like me knows what we have isn’t something that happens every day. This is forever, Sansa.” He raised her hand to his chest and laid it over his heart. “You’re mine, and I’ll fight the devil himself to keep you.”

Speechless, Sansa felt her mouth quiver at his words, and Sandor reached up and caressed her lower lip with his thumb.  “Forever,” she finally breathed out as she stared deep into his eyes.

After kissing her soundly, Sandor smiled and tucked her tightly against him. “Now then, let’s go back to sleep.”

Sansa rolled over onto him, straddled his lap and sat up. His eyes ranged hungrily over her, and he pressed his manhood against her woman's place in response.

"Can't we try again first?" Her voice was barely above a whisper. She laced her fingers through Sandor's and rolled her hips deeply over him, rubbing his length against her slit as she did so. The feeling was so exquisite that Sansa's threw her head back and moaned while the heavy wetness of her arousal soaked them both. The heat of his member took her breath away, and his own arousal fluids created a slick friction between them she had not felt during their previous encounter.

Groaning, Sandor held the base of his penis and began stroking the head over her slit, barely allowing the tip to enter her as her mewling grew louder. "Fuck but you're a hot little thing," he hissed through gritted teeth.

"Sandor..." she sobbed out, her eyes prickling with tears. "We needs get..." They needed a condom, she knew, but so lost in her pleasure was Sansa that she could barely form words.

Abruptly Sandor moved her off of him and unrolled a condom over his penis with a long moan, then hurriedly moved her back into position. Deftly she sank down over his length with a loud cry, tossing her head back with each thrust.  "That's it, Little bird, ride my cock."

Sansa did just as he said, rode him long and hard, rode him until they were both out of breath, until she screamed his name and supplicated the gods by turns, until he pulsed deep inside her and whispered his love for her against her neck. Afterward, he stroked her back gently until once more Sansa drifted off into peaceful dreams.


	12. Chapter 12

Sandor’s stormy eyes were the first thing Sansa saw when she awakened. Turning somewhat sheepish when he realized she had caught him watching her sleep, he grinned at her while his fingers rhythmically stroked her back and shoulders.

Contented, Sansa smiled and then snuggled against his skin for a while, lost in the feel of his hands until unpleasant thoughts about the night before crept into her mind.

His violent, unpredictable temper, his need to keep her close, the moving her to the den in the middle of the night all deeply troubled her. They had worked it out, true, but despite her best efforts, Sansa’s vexing habit of being incapable of preventing her troubles from infringing on her peaceful moments soon came to the fore. As Sandor held her, apprehension settled over Sansa, darkening her mood.

_Maybe we rushed things. We both have so many issues, I hope the physical elements won’t just add another layer of complications. And yet how could it not? Last night I was so certain that following our instincts was the right thing to do, but what if we made a horrible mistake?_

Sansa certainly didn’t regret giving her virginity to Sandor; no, she was very happy she did, but the light of day brought a singular sadness that it happened so early in the relationship.

 _What if he’s just telling me what I want to hear so he can keep taking me to bed? Many men do such things; Sandor may not be any different. Our whole relationship has been so rushed. I’m glad we’re going to see Elder brother_. _I should say something to him about it. Yes, we should talk about this before things go any further._

Looking up at Sandor, he seemed relaxed; in fact, within his gaze there was a peace she had never seen in the man. It certainly didn’t appear that Sandor shared her misgivings, a fact that both frustrated and relieved her.

Finally when Sansa held his gaze, she took the opportunity to truly look at him: her eyes roamed over his beautiful physique and intense eyes to his twitching smile, then to his short hair that no longer hid his scars and openly exposed them to the light of day.

A deep warmth radiated from Sandor’s eyes as he looked at Sansa, touching her deeply, fading the nagging uncertainties into the back of her mind. _Why can’t I be like Sandor and just enjoy this? Why do I have to second guess myself at every turn?_ The warmth of Sandor’s skin surrounded her, and she nuzzled into his chest, breathing in his scent.

Chuckling softly, he pulled her tighter against him. His manhood stiffened and pressed firmly into her thigh, causing a rush of shyness to course through her.

“Good morning.”

She hated mornings, but Sansa had to admit they were somewhat better when shared with the man she loved. 

“Good morning, love.”

The realization that they both were still very _naked_ brought another flush of embarrassment to her cheeks. _How am I going to get up without him…seeing all of me?_  Silently Sansa chided herself for her foolishness; after all, he had kissed her _there_ , even relished doing so, as she had him. Still, she could not deny that what hadn’t bothered her in the darkness mysteriously filled Sansa with embarrassment the light of morning.  

 Shyly she smiled at him. “How long have you been awake?”

Sandor turned toward the window. “Daybreak. It’s still snowing.” She felt his hands smooth over her hair and then take a lock between two fingers and draw them over the length. “Cold, isn’t it?”

Catlike, Sansa stretched her limbs, arching her back and then curling back next to him. “Hmmm, but warm here with you,” she softly murmured and then moaned, the noise moving Sandor to kiss her neck, now openly exposed to him. The arousing sensation soon conquered her, and Sansa arched into him.

“Why are you up so early?” She could not help but ask, worrying that Sandor had been plagued by more nightmares during the night.

“I’ve been up with the sun since I was a boy.” Sandor chuckled, pulling away as suddenly as he descended on her so he could look her in these eyes. “I take it the little bird isn’t a morning person.”

Wrinkling her nose, she shook her head. “Not until coffee.” Sansa inhaled deeply, seeking out the comforting scent.  “Is there any ready?”

“No, I haven’t got up yet to make it. Didn’t want to disturb you.” Restlessly Sandor wiggled his foot beneath her.

“Are you in pain?” He finally asked.

“A little, but not where you would think-“ Sansa clamped her hand over her mouth, for the words slipped out before she could check them, earning a deep laugh from Sandor. “My back is a little stiff.” She offered by way of explanation. “My ribs ache, too.”

Rolling over, Sandor pulled back the blanket, exposing her breasts. Tenderly his hands fell to just below her heart while concern darkened his brow. “Swollen a bit you are. Old injury?”

“Yes,” Sansa wriggled away from him. “And I don’t wish to talk about it.”

“Alright,” Sandor sighed, then bent his head and placed several kisses along her ribcage. “The cold aggravates such. These will make it better.”

Sighing, she leaned back and savored the feel of him until her eyes fell on the gnarled oak clock over the television. “Is it really eight o’clock already? Have you been waiting for me since sunup, truly?” She sat up and stretched once more and then carefully tucked the blankets around her.

“Aye, what of it?” Sandor watched Sansa, amusement filling his features.

 _Was he watching me sleep this whole time?_ The thought somehow disconcerted her.

“I just-I just wouldn’t want to put you out or anything.” Sansa twisted the blanket nervously.

“Holding a naked woman isn’t exactly a punishment for me, Sansa,” Sandor breathed against her neck, squeezed her close and then moved out from under her. “I’ll make the coffee. Power’s out, though. We’ll have to drink the percolated kind.”

Unashamedly Sandor walked into the kitchen as naked as his nameday and pulled down an old copper pot. With his beautiful body, he certainly had no reason to be embarrassed, but Sansa was not used to anyone being so comfortable and so very naked around her and so she blushed deeply.

“That’s okay. Um, don’t you want to, uh, put on pants before turning on the burners?”

Sandor let out a harsh laugh that sounded like a growl. “Does it offend your sense of _propriety_ , Little bird, for me to be bare assed naked in the kitchen while handling your food?”

“N-no, not at all,” she stammered out, lowering her eyes to the blanket on her lap. Mortified, she tried to focus on answering his original question.

“This may seem like a stupid question for someone who works in a coffee house to ask but what is percolated coffee?”

“You know, the kind you make in a pot with two chambers, like when you go camping.” Having never made it that way herself, Sansa eagerly watched as Sandor filled the pot with water and filled the top chamber with coffee grounds. “But I suppose a precious thing like you never went out into the great outdoors for more than half a day growing up, did you?”

“You are quite mistaken. We used to take a small cast iron coffee pot with us when we went to the far north; we would go for a week or more at a time.”

Sansa phone began to ring, interrupting her. Biting her lip, she glanced anxiously at her purse, which sat on the counter right next to Sandor.

“Come and get it, Little bird, you know you want to,” Sandor’s mouth curled into a wicked smile as he eyed her hungrily. “I won’t stop you.” He licked his lips and laughed at her indecision.

Swallowing hard, Sansa daringly slipped out from under the furs and walked toward him, the chill of the room sending fresh goose bumps all over her bare flesh,  her bold move effectively shutting Sandor up in the process. She felt a rush of heat flood her cheeks and down her chest as she stepped beside him. Sandor saw it too, for he laughed roguishly when he noticed it and then groaned approvingly as his eyes roved over her body.

“Stop that,” Sansa hissed at him and then laughed. “I-I feel shy walking around like this. Turn away now, please-I don’t want to be, well, I don’t want you to think me wanton.”

“Wanton?” He shook his head. “Fuck that nonsense. Be as wanton as you like, and I want to have my look, besides,” Sandor moaned into her ear as he descended on her neck. “Little bird,” he murmured, kissing her collarbone. “Never hide from me. You have nothing to be ashamed of. My god, you are a beauty.”

As her phone continued ringing, she feebly fumbled with her purse until Sandor pulled her tightly against his back and breathed into her hair while allowing his hands to run over her low back until he cupped her bottom, giving it a light squeeze. “Leave that phone; whatever it is will keep. Let me have you again, lass.”

Before she could stop herself, Sansa forgot about her phone, turned to face him and with a small giggle she allowed him to lift her into his arms. Sansa wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her back to the sofa to the warmth of the blankets and into his waiting arms.

He was watching her, waiting for consent. A flurry of excitement circulated through her body as she made room for him, effectively answering him. When still he hesitated, slowly Sansa nodded, not knowing what to say, for never had a man desired her the way Sandor did, and certainly Sansa never had one openly express it; she found his uninhibited passion intoxicating.

“Let’s make love,” she whispered shyly. Sandor's response was muffled because his face was already pressed between her breasts, kissing and licking her tender flesh while grinding his hips against her own.

Sandor paid special attention to her body in places he had not kissed the night before: the nape of her neck, in between her shoulder blades, and the small of her back before he moved lower still, kissing and nipping at her bottom, thighs and the back of each knee, the man thoroughly tending to each area.

Leisurely Sandor’s lips and hands traversed the terrain of her body, making her feel bashful and yet very much loved. When he finally made love to her, it was slow and sweet and never once did he look away from her. Sansa clung to him, tears moistening her eyes at the tenderness of it all. Sandor didn't immediately withdraw after shuddering his completion but instead remained inside her, enveloped her in his arms, and murmured over and over: "My little bird, my sweet Sansa."

After they napped, Sandor got up and dressed in jeans and black t-shirt and a red plaid shirt, then went outside. Within a few moments the lights came on. Throwing on her robe, Sansa poked her head out the back door.

“The electricity is on!” She called to him.

A loud motor resounded from the garage, drowning out her voice but Sandor soon came back toward the house.

“Turned on the generator.” He wiped his hands on a towel. “Did the lights cut on?”

“Yes,” she eagerly nodded. “You have your very own generator?” They were a necessity in the north but Sansa had been led to believe that only backwoods survivalists who were paranoid about the government kept them in the lower forty eight. _Was Sandor such a person?_

“Aye, I like to be prepared. Comes with the training.” Sandor pointed to the tattoo on his muscular forearm.

Quietly Sansa reached out to him and faintly traced over the design with her fingers. “Three dogs on a yellow field, a “C” for Clegane, a skull and crossbones and these numbers-are they from your unit?”

“The three dogs on a yellow field is the insignia for the Knight Bachelor of House Clegane in Scotland. The numbers mean something to us but not in some official way.”

“ _’If you can’t defend yourself, die and get out of the way of those who can’_ ” Sansa read aloud. Stunned silence followed. “Do you really believe that?”

Suddenly taciturn, he shifted away. “Aye, at one time more than I do now but yes, damn it, I do.”

His attitude troubled her but she reasoned that perhaps it was the way many in the armed forces felt-or was it?

“What of me?" Sansa challenged him. "Would you say the same applies to me?”

Gritting his teeth, Sandor shook his head. “No, lass; not you. Never you.”

Pleased, she decided to shelve it. Sansa pulled him into an embrace, kissed his cheek and turned toward the den. “It matters not, Sandor. Come, let’s get warm, shall we?”

While Sandor adjusted the heat and tended the fireplace, Sansa decided to call Margaery.

“Where are you?” Margaery demanded. “I’ve tried calling you all morning but it went straight to voicemail.”

“I stayed with Sandor last night. I’m staying today, too. I’m going to be here for a bit.” For some reason, Sansa couldn't stop talking.

“Oh my god, Sansa, what do you mean you’re _staying_ with him for a bit? It’s too fucking soon!”  Margaery’s voice shrieked so loudly through Sansa’s smartphone that she had to hold it away from her ear. “Just like a virgin to think that the “d” equals love after the first time. Don’t make me come over there and drag you out of that house.”

“I’m not staying here _permanently_ , Margaery, at least not yet, just until this storm passes. And for the love of god, don’t screech at me so.” Sansa hissed into the phone as she padded over to the box of donuts Sandor set out. “The roads are all iced over. The power’s out, too, but Sandor has a generator. How’s everything at your place?”

“The shop’s closed for the day so I’m going over to my grandma’s in a bit. Are you okay? Do you need anything?” Margaery sounded bored.

“I’m fine.” Sansa started to say more but decided to hold her tongue. “Would you pack a bag for me and get Lady into her carrier? Even though she’s furry I don’t want to leave her there in an apartment with no heat. Mrs. Olenna will give you the key and I’ll come by in an hour or so.”

“Sure, okay,” Margaery agreed.  “So, quit holding out on a bitch. How was he? Is Sandor _proportionate_?”

A warm blush spread down Sansa’s cheeks to her chest at Margaery’s words. “Yes, he is.” She whispered into the phone, causing Margaery to let out a howl of delight. “He was wonderful. I mean, he is wonderful. But truthfully, I think we’ve rushed things. I hope it doesn’t spoil everything between us.”

“What makes you say that?” Her friend’s voice was tinged with alarm, but Sansa was not ready to divulge any more details just then. “Are you regretting it already?”

“No, not at all. Let’s just say we both have a lot of baggage that needs sorting out.”

“I gathered that much from yesterday. But honestly Sansa: who _doesn’t_? If you hold out for the guy who has the perfect Huxtable upbringing, you’ll never have sex again.” Margaery laughed at her own joke on the other end. “Make it up as you go along with Sandor. He seems to really care about you.”

 _Margaery can tell that just from the little she has seen of us together? Maybe she’s right, maybe I am dwelling on the negative too much._ When Sansa didn’t respond, Margaery added, “He was gentle, right? I mean, you don’t think he’d hit you or anything like that, do you?”

“No, he most certainly would not!” Sansa cried, alarmed, though the question made her realize that indeed, she knew he would never hurt her on purpose.

“Well, after Joffrey, I couldn’t help but ask,” Margaery tittered nervously. “Don’t be mad, dear. So then, have fun, keep a bit of independence for yourself and try not to overthink it.”

“But-“ Sansa didn’t finish her sentence, partly because she didn’t want to give voice to it and also because she didn’t want to go into it with Margaery. _How do I do that? How can I make love to him, stay with him and yet be independent_? _Sandor said we would talk to Elder brother. I’ll wait to speak to him._

“Honestly Sansa a bit less seriousness would do you some good. Maybe you’re depressed or something.”

“No, I’m not depressed Margaery. If I was, I would go to the doctor.”

“Well, get over yourself, then. You found a great guy, just try to enjoy him.”

Sighing, Sansa agreed and then after exchanging a bit more gossip, she hung up. A few moments later, Sandor’s phone began playing Metallica’s song  _For Whom the Bell Tolls._ “It’s Brienne,” Sandor explained, answering Sansa’s inquiring look before he spoke into the phone. Turning away, Sansa busied herself with pouring the coffee.

“WHAT?” He shouted into phone, startling Sansa so that she dropped her mug, shattering it all over the floor. “Captured?”

A crushing surge of panic gripped Sansa’s chest at his words. _Captured? Jaime, Brienne’s husband?_ In two strides he was beside Sansa, pulling her into his arms as he listened, and Sansa knew she needed to steady herself and be strong for him.

“How the fuck did that happen? Where was Barristan and Oakheart? Did Bronn say?” Whatever the answer, Sandor slumped back against the wall, and Sansa rested her head on his shoulder while tenderly rubbing soothing circles over his abdomen.

“Are they sending in an extraction team? Well they’d fucking BETTER, god damn it!” Pausing, Sandor moved away from her and paced as he listened. “I don’t give a fuck what he said! I’ve got your six, Brienne and we’ll get this done, don’t you worry.” He glanced her direction, and so Sansa schooled her face into a look of passivity so Sandor would not see the fear rising in her. “Listen, Sansa’s here but I’ll be there ASAP. We’ll go to the base and get this shit handled.”

Faintly she could hear Brienne on the other end before he hung up, after which he pulled her into an impossibly tight embrace. Sansa squeezed his side, waiting for him to speak. “I’m sorry I made a mess. You scared me.”

“Never mind the mess. I’ve gotta go. Jaime’s been captured by the Taliban.”

“Oh my god!” Sansa grasped her throat. “How is Brienne?”

Shrugging, Sandor growled, “About as well as you’d think. Bronn shouldn’t have fucking told Brienne that much, thoughtless bastard.  She’s a soldier, aye, but she’s still Jaime’s wife. I’m going with her to the base.” He ran his hands over his head. “I have to, Sansa, I’m her CO and Jaime, well, we’ve served together since we were boys.”

Sandor has known him that long? Then did he know about her father? And Bronn…that name sounded familiar. Suddenly Sansa understood he took her silence meant her disapproval. “Of course! Of course, go, be with her. She needs you.” She patted his chest and pulled his face down into a kiss. “I’ll make myself busy.”

“Don’t go, Sansa,” Sandor spoke through gritted teeth. “Please. I’ll be back later.”

“Take as much time as you need,” Sansa kissed him again. “I’m going to go to my place to take care of Lady but I’ll be here when you return.” She forced a small smile.

“Bring her here, lass; I don’t mind.” Clicking his teeth, Sandor pulled her tightly against him and kissed her slowly, tenderly. “I didn’t want our date to end like this.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “Then we’ll have to do it all over again later.” Quickly she took out his commuter mug and filled it, then wrapped two donuts in a paper towel and gave them to him.

Sandor’s mouth twitched. “Serving me even here, is that the way of it?”

“I’m serving you here because I care about you.”

An awkward silence followed. “About Jaime-this kind of thing isn’t common Sansa, it’s just-“

“It doesn’t matter,” Sansa placed her fingers lightly over his mouth as she handed him his cup. “We’ll speak of it later. Now, go, be with Brienne. She needs you. Tell her I’m praying for her and her husband, please.” _And for you, too, Sandor._

After one last kiss, Sandor hurried out the door. Anxiety filled Sansa as she watched Sandor put chains on the truck tires and then slowly back out of the driveway. Down the lane, Brienne was already hurrying toward him when he stopped and let her in. Once Sandor was out of sight, Sansa went inside and removed the carefully wrapped meesawme and then fell to her knees in prayer, shaking uncontrollably as she did so.


	13. Chapter 13

It was early afternoon and yet it was still snowing. The news called it the storm of the century, a once in a lifetime freak of nature, but Sansa knew it was a sign from her father. Sign or no, she still had no idea how she would get to her apartment, and so Sansa decided to stay in prayer. So nervous was she that she could hardly focus on her worship, but she trusted her father was listening to her and that he intuitively knew what she longed to say. _He will help us_ , Sansa repeated to herself. _I must believe. The shaman said Grandmother Kokumthena and Gitche Manitou will watch over me along with Father._ She decided she would go to the sept after the snow let up and speak to her again, and perhaps the  shaman would find something to comfort Brienne as well.

Gazing at the unmade bed, Sansa felt a deep flush creep over her face as memories of the previous night swept over her once more. Given her affinity for cleanliness, the state of the room should have repulsed her, but it strangely enough, Sansa found she didn’t mind. Her nerves frayed, she laid down on the side where Sandor slept and stared at the ceiling. His scent permeated the bedding, comforting her at once. Sighing, Sansa cuddled his pillow against her chest and inhaled deeply, taking strength in his masculine scent. _When will he come back? And Brienne, how is she? Now that Sandor is home from his deployment,  just what would he be able to do to help her? Does this mean Sandor might deploy earlier than originally planned?_

 _Sandor did not say if Brienne had any family besides Jaime. If she does not, no wonder she turned to Sandor_. Sansa understood all too well how excruciating separation from one’s family could be, especially during troubling times. After her family passed on, the anguish of grief made remembering even small things difficult for Sansa while she stayed at the Red Mansion, and so it was that over time, she transformed from porcelain, to ivory, to steel. Steadfastly she swallowed down her anger and misery until her only expression was blank, barren of emotion. Sansa's only goal was to survive the Lannisters and becoming a wolf in sheep's clothing was the only way she knew to endure her captivity. Early on Sansa was determined that she would do just that, no matter the cost.

She wore that mask for the world to see, the mask of a perfect lady engaged to Joffrey, the one with perfect manners and perfect clothing and perfect hair, but deep inside, Sansa heard the howling of wolves whenever she was alone. They reminded her that she was still part of the pack, part of the Wolf Clan of the Ojibwe, even if they had been skinned and scattered to the four winds. At night her father’s voice called  to her and the young woman found comfort in speaking to him, often out loud and before long, she did it any time she wanted to do so. It was a gift from the old gods, Sansa knew, much in the same way as her visions and one her father had with his deceased sister Lyanna, though the Lannisters took a decidedly different view of her unorthodox behavior.

Disgusted, Joffrey thought her mad and often laughed at her but Sansa did as she liked while unrepentantly ignoring him. Before long, he would have his men beat her for it, thinking it would dissuade her. Still she persisted and grew stronger, more powerful as she reconnected with her pack. Sansa never explained her beliefs to anyone; if anything, she even encouraged the Lannisters supposition that she had lost her mind despite the painful consequences-the result of which Sandor had seen earlier in her swollen ribs.

Her mother’s friend Petyr Baelish, who worked as a business manager and head accountant for the Lannisters, had warned her to stop. Having been raised with her mother, he did not understand her beliefs. Petyr had grey-green eyes that did not smile when his mouth did, and the man had a way of making her uneasy that Sansa felt but could not put into words. _When a man shows you who he is, believe him_ , Maester Luwin’s words came to her whenever Baelish spoke to her in his parroting way, and she avoided him at all costs.

A medicine man that served House Stark, Maester Luwin had gone to the afterlife not long after her parents, and she listened to his words and his alone, never confiding in Petyr Baelish despite his pleading, never trusting anyone. When he saw he was getting nowhere and Sansa persisted in speaking to the dead, he left her alone then. So successfully had Sansa played her part that during that period she oftentimes had wondered if she was, indeed, losing her hold on reality.

Her fiancé, however, was not easily put off. Time only made Joffrey intensify his efforts until he increased her beatings to a daily basis. One day, his uncle Tyrion came home and stopped it. In time, even Joffrey’s mother Cersei became concerned about her behavior affecting the family's reputation, and Sansa’s continued ruse eventually led the Lannisters to believe she had lost all hold on reality. Unable to tolerate Sansa’s presence any longer, Robert sent her back to Alaska and out of the prying eyes of the media.

 _Bronn!_ Her heart sank in fear. _He used to be Tyrion’s enforcer._ Sansa clutched Sandor’s pillow tighter still. Grabbing her phone, she wanted to tell Sandor right away but she was unsure how he would react. _How had he ended up out of the Lannister household and in the American military, since he, too, came from Scotland? Would he show up at Sandor’s place? Worse yet-would Joffrey come to help his aunt?_   After much deliberation, Sansa doubted that would happen.

After her prayers, she texted Margaery to come by Sandor’s place and then went about cleaning the house to alleviate her anxiety. Afterward, Sansa hurriedly showered and dressed in the yoga pants, hoodie, long sleeved tee and Ugg boots she brought from home. She had just stripped the bedding and put it in the machine to soak when Margaery knocked on the door.

“Oooh, nice place to play house!” She whistled, glancing around the room. She set down Lady’s carrier and her litter box in the living room. “She’s been yowling for you.”

“Oh my poor darling,” Sansa lifted the cat out of the carrier and set her down on the floor. Immediately Lady jumped into her lap. “I shouldn’t have left her for so long.”

“What, overnight?” Margaery rolled her eyes. “She’s a _cat_ , you know, not a child.”

“She’s my baby.” Smiling, Sansa picked up Lady and gave Margaery a tour of the small house and then offered her coffee and donuts.

Eagerly Margaery dove into the donuts, dipping them in her coffee with relish. “So, you feel any _different_?”

Did she? Yes and no, but Sansa wasn’t sure she wanted to talk about it with Margaery. “Somewhat,” she demurred. “I guess so.”

Laughing, Margaery nodded. “I knew you would. It’s all good, Sansa. So, where _is_ the big man?”

She drew a deep breath. “You remember my friend Brienne?”

Eyes widening, Margaery nodded.

“Her husband is missing overseas. Sandor took her to the base to see what could be done to find him.”

Deflated, Margaery shook her head sadly. “Oh gods, that’s terrible. Do they think he's been captured or is he just missing?”

“He may be captured, but please, not a word to anyone.”

“Oh I know the drill, not a word.” Margaery simulated pulling a zipper across her mouth. “Poor guy. That’s what happened to Renly.”

Sansa heart began pounding furiously. Margaery must have noticed her changed demeanor, for she leaned forward and rested her hand on Sansa’s arm. “Your man will find him, Sansa.”

Heavy heartedly, Sansa nodded. She didn’t have to tell Margaery that she touched on the very thing she feared most: that Sandor would return to Afghanistan in some covert operation to save his friend. Swallowing hard, she whispered, “I know. I’m just not ready to be parted from him so soon.”

Shrugging, Margaery helped herself to another donut. “Such is the way of loving a serviceman, Sansa.”

“I suppose that’s true,” she allowed quietly. “But I wish it wasn’t.”

“Don’t we all?” Margaery smirked. “Well you’ve got plenty of clothes here and now your cat has moved in. Remember what I said about your independence?”

“Yes,” Sansa wrung her hands uncertainly. “But I don’t know how to do both. How can I be independent and yet be with Sandor as I want to be?”

Margaery sighed and leaned in close. “Keep your job. Keep going to school. Keep your apartment, even if you’re never there; you never know when you might need it. Understand? Keep your own bank account, your own things separate from him.”

“Okay, I think I understand.”

“Good. Don’t let him change your personality or your goals, either, with talk of marriage and babies and whatever." Margaery shuddered. "And if you find out in the end that it’s just too hard, Sansa, then maybe it isn’t meant to be.”

“Alright,” Sansa assented while absently chewing on her lemon filled donut. “I see what you’re saying. Keep me in line, will you? If you see me, you know, disappearing too much, tell me, okay?”

“You can count on it,” Margaery laughed. “Listen lady, I‘ve got to go, but try not to worry too much, okay?” She kissed Sansa on each cheek. “Damn, you look good today. Love certainly agrees with you. Have I ever told you that I sometimes wish you were into girls?”

Laughing, Sansa swatted her arm. “Yes, too many times to count! Thanks for coming by.”

After Margaery left, Sansa went about setting up Lady’s litterbox and feeding area. To her pleasure, her normally skittish kitty seemed most comfortable and Sansa had to shoo her off the bed so she could change the bedding. For some reason, she just could not bring herself to change Sandor’s pillow. Cuddling it close to her chest, Sansa then laid down and took a nap.

* * *

In her dreams, Sansa was floating, no, she was _flying_ high above a desert landscape. Had she indeed turned into the little bird to whom Sandor so often likened her? No, one look at herself in the reflection of the water told Sansa that she was a raven: a beautiful raven with silky black feathers. Below, Sansa saw a hulking grey wolf, the likes of which she had only seen once in the far north. Dark charcoal in color with a silver mane around his neck, the animal had deep, familiar gray eyes. The wolf led her to a remote enclave in the mountains where a fierce firefight was taking place. Squinting, she could not see who was fighting, and soon she no longer cared, for Sansa noticed a young male lion lying injured among the fray. An enormous snarling wolfhound entered the scene, tearing and snapping at anyone who dared approach him before snatching up the young lion in his immense jaws and then hurdling out of sight.

“Do you see what happened, Sansa?” The grey wolf woofed softly but when he spoke Sansa heard her father’s voice.

“Yes, Father.” Sansa answered him, though to her own ears she only heard the soft chirping of birdsong, the noise coming from her throat bearing little resemblance to the cawing of the ravens from home. “The dog survived and rescued the lion. What does it mean?"

Briefly she was afraid her father would not understand her reply until he answered: “The _Hound_ will survive, my little lemoncake; your husband will survive and he will save Jaime, the Lannister lion.”

Her mind raced with questions. “Sandor-he is not my husband in truth, not yet anyway,” Sansa stammered, staring with all her might at the wolf.  She could not remember any Ojibwe fables about wolves and lions. “Forgive me but you already know this. Why did you show me these animals, Father?”

“You lost your wolf, my sweet girl, and so I sent you a dog, a Hound, to be your companion, to keep you safe and to love you as he will never lover another. Now you are bonded with him in the way of our people. But Sansa, be aware that you must have faith that he will return to you in order for it to happen. You must believe in the old gods of the forest for them to help you.”

“I-I do believe, Father,” Sansa desperately cried out. “I do! I believe in what you have shown me. Please, tell me what to do! I-I have so many questions! How do I help him? Please, tell me. We both have so many wounds, please-“

“You must _make_ Sandor believe, Sansa, if he is to survive. You are the raven, you must deliver the message from the old gods to him. Sandor is meant to survive, meant for greater things, too, and he will indeed live if he believes, if he has faith in the truth of your words. You must _make_ him, Sansa.”

“How?” Sansa tearfully asked. “Please tell me.”

“Listen to your instincts, Sansa; they served you well in the Red Mansion. They serve you now. You are wolf-blooded. You must be strong.”

“I will be strong, Father, for you and for Sandor.” Sansa paused. “What of Mother’s gods?”

“Her gods don’t live here, Sansa.” The wolf turned toward the sloped base and soon faded into the snowy vastness of the mountains.

Fear clutched at her throat. “Father! Father, please don’t leave me!”

“I have never left you, Sansa,” She heard him answer. “I am always with you.”

Strong arms grasped her shoulders. “You’re shaking, girl.” For a moment Sansa thought it was her father, but when she opened her eyes it was Sandor’s burned face she saw, his mouth twisting into a small smile. “I’m glad you stayed.”

Relieved, Sansa smiled and held out her arms to him. Readily he climbed into bed beside her and gathered her into his arms. “I wouldn’t just leave, especially under these conditions.”

“I see your cat has made herself at home,” he nodded toward his side of the bed, where Lady peacefully lay snoozing on his pajama bottoms. "And you've been cleaning again."

Sansa giggled. “What time is it?” Her eyes struggled to focus on the alarm clock on the nightstand.

“Suppertime,” Sandor nuzzled into her neck. “You slept all day?

“Hmm.” She nodded, rubbing her eyes. “I cleaned up and Margaery brought over Lady but then, yes, I went to sleep. Waste of a day.” In truth it had been so long since Sansa felt as safe and secure as she did with Sandor that it seemed her body was trying to catch up on rest.

“Not a waste if you need it.” Sandor looked her over carefully. As if sensing her next question, he went on: “Brienne’s better now. I left her at the base with Elder brother.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Sansa snuggled into him. “Do you know what happened to her husband?”

“He was captured while going after a deserter from our unit.”

“A deserter?” Sansa turned to face him. “Why did he desert? Does anyone know?”

“The man had some kind of breakdown, just walked away.” Sandor shook his head and ran his hands through his hair. “Fucking unbelievable. He walked right off the base. He deserted in the middle of Afghanistan to go and find the Taliban. Jaime and a few others went after him to save his life.”

“Maybe he has Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.” Sansa sat up, watching him warily.

His head snapped up to her, his eyes glittering angrily, but Sandor merely nodded. “Aye. He hadn’t slept in a week and the man acted numb, no response to anything, according to Bronn. We’re trained to know the symptoms, look out for each other. They should have medevac’d him out before it came to that.”

Pursing her lips together, Sansa meant to keep quiet but her father’s words returned to her. “So, you believe his fellow soldiers were responsible for making sure he got medical treatment?”

“Aye, I do. If they had done their job this wouldn’t have fucking happened.”

Wrapping her arms around his waist, Sansa stared into his eyes. “Then I should do the same."

Clearly puzzled, Sandor stared at her.

"You need help, Sandor, for you are suffering from it too; I am certain of it.”

Gritting his teeth, Sandor hastily moved away from her. “You-you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!”

Sansa sadly watched him as he began pacing the room like a caged animal. “You know that I do. I have both experienced it personally and also learned about it in school. I got help; I still go from time to time to see the doctor, especially when I have a relapse. You must do the same, Sandor, before _you_ are the one who is endangering both yourself and others.” Gently she moved beside him and rested her hand on his shoulder. “Let me help you.”

“Sansa, you mean well, lass, but I’ve got to go help Jaime-I can’t deal with my own shit right now.”

“You mean Elder brother won’t give you medical clearance if you go to him for help now, is that it?” Sansa folded her arms and glared at him. “You aren’t ready and we both know it. You must help yourself before you can help Jaime.”

“Fuck that noise-“ Sandor spat out angrily.

“Sandor, I just heard you lay the blame on your unit for failing to help a fellow soldier and in so doing they risked the lives of others.” Sansa interrupted him. “Jaime is paying the price for it as we speak. What if the same thing happens to you once you are over there? What prevents you from wandering out into the Afghan desert too?”

Ashen, Sandor bit his lip until it bled as he stared at her, and then without a word he stormed out of the house.

Tearfully Sansa slumped down on the bed and began praying to her father. She heard Sandor outside, cursing as he chopped and stacked wood. After a while, everything became quiet. She peeked out the door and saw the light on in the garage.  _I’ll leave him be, let him work out his anger. He’ll come to me when he’s ready._

Sighing, Sansa went into the den. The gun rack was open she noticed, and only a rifle remained inside. _He must be cleaning his guns now._ Though the thought sent a wave of nerves to her stomach, this was one behavior Sansa understood, for her father often cleaned his guns and rifles as a way of clearing his head.

 _If he’s going to act like my father, then I will treat Sandor in the same manner as my mother treated my father when he acted in such a way._ With a shake of her head, Sansa then went about finding something to make for dinner. She found pork chops in his refrigerator and a can of bacon drippings, so Sansa fried up onions in it and then made milk gravy. When it was seasoned to her liking, she then browned the chops and placed everything together in a cast iron Dutch oven to slow cook on the top of the stove. Afterward she rolled out two batches of cathead biscuits and put them in the oven to bake.

 _If these aromas don’t bring him back into the house, nothing will_ , she mused to herself. Soon enough, she heard Sandor come in the back door, and Sansa had to fight the smile creeping onto her face at her victory.

“You making biscuits and gravy?” He sheepishly stared at his feet, shuffling from side to side as he waited for her response.

 _Just like a little boy, this one._ “Yes, and I smothered the chops I found in the fridge. I was just about to make apple sauce, too. Are you hungry?” Sansa smiled as though nothing had happened. Turning away from him, she methodically cored and peeled the apples while waiting for him to reply.

“Might be. Could be.” Sandor ran his toe along the tiles of the floor. “We’ll go tomorrow. Together.”

“Hmm?” Sansa glanced up at him through her lashed, feigning ignorance. _He needs to tell me outright. No more sulking. No more temper tantrums._ When he hesitated, she made herself busy putting the apples on to cook.

“I already made an appointment with Elder brother for us tomorrow.” He began, his words forced. “I’ll tell him then.”

“Tell him?” She raised her brow.

“About the nightmares. About the sleeping in the bedroom thing, too.” Sandor ran his thumbnail over the grout in the tile. “We’ll work this out.”

Standing on her toes, Sansa kissed his cheek. “Alright then. Sit down and I’ll fix you a plate.”

They spoke no more of it during supper. Afterward Sandor returned to the sanctuary of the garage while Sansa cleaned up after the meal. Just as she was finishing up, she heard a loud rapping on the door. “Clegane? Hound? Open up to me now, it’s me, Bronn. Come on now.”

 _Good gods_ , Sansa swallowed hard, glancing toward the garage. _Sandor will never hear him out there._ Suddenly she heard the front door swing open and the man stepped inside. _What if he is on orders from Tyrion? What if he's come to take me back to Joffrey?_  Sansa thought wildly. It seemed unlikely but she decided to protect herself just to be safe. Like all northern girls, Sansa had learned how to shoot weapons from the time she was old enough to hold a small gun, and she learned how to clean and care for them, too. And beyond that, Sansa wasn’t about to let anyone, let alone a former Lannister lackey, just walk into _her_ house uninvited.

Carefully she crept over to the gun rack and took down Sandor’s rifle, loaded the bullets and then  rested the weapon on her shoulder, getting a feel for it. It had been years since she fired one, but Sansa was confident she still could do so with a fair amount of accuracy. She was never as good as her sister with weapons but that didn't matter; Sansa was surprised how much had come back to her in a moment of fear.

“Clegane?” Bronn’s thick brogue echoed through the house.

“Not Clegane, his girlfriend, Sansa,” Sansa stepped out while holding the rifle at her side. “You would be Bronn, Tyrion Lannister’s man. I remember you.” Her eyes narrowed at him. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“I remember you too. No trouble, I swear it on me mother’s grave.” Bronn held up his hands. He didn’t try to advance forward, she was pleased to see. “Put down the rifle, love, I’m not going to hurt you. Come on, then, there's a good lass; put it down before you get hurt.”

“I’m not the one who will end up hurt.” Sansa said quietly, the young woman neither putting down nor raising her weapon. “I learned to use one of these when I was twelve. And if you don’t want people pointing rifles at you, you shouldn’t walk into their homes uninvited. My sister would have shot you for doing such. "

"Aye, true enough, that." He eagerly nodded.

“Now, then, Sandor is in the garage so you just go out the way you came in and go on around to see him.”

“Okay, love, I will. Don’t shoot me, now.” Bronn edged out of the door.

“I’m not going to shoot you unless you try to hurt me.” Her voice quivered at the last word.

Bronn's gray eyes crinkled in the corners at her words. “I never hurt you, not back there, and I won’t hurt you now, you must believe that.”

“What in bloody hells is going on?!” Sandor shouted at the top of his voice. “Bronn, what the fuck did you do to her?”

“Me?” Bronn kept his hands up. “Your new girlfriend has me cornered like a opossum. Call her off, will you?”

Sandor stepped in between Sansa and Bronn, so she at once lowered the rifle. “I’ve got this, Sansa; I’ll keep you safe. Let me see the rifle, lass. It's a tricky weapon.”

Meekly Sansa handed it to him, and Sandor checked the chamber and then removed the bullets.

Bronn heaved a sigh of relief but still he didn’t move.

Clearly pleased by what he saw, Sandor grinned at her. “You loaded it very well, Sansa; and you hold it right, too. Where’d you learn such?”

“My father,” Sansa released a breath she didn’t know she was holding.  “He taught all of us. I know it isn’t ladylike or whatever and many people frown on it here, but one needs to know how to use firearms in the north, what with wild animals and all. It is a necessity.”

“That’ll teach you to surprise my woman,” Sneering, Sandor shook hands with him. “Bronn, this is Sansa Stark."

"How do, miss."

"Sansa, this is Bronn. We’ve served together for five years now.”

“We’ve already met,” Sansa said coolly. “When he worked for Tyrion Lannister.”

His eyes darkening, Sandor nodded once at her in recognition, a frightening gleam taking over his gaze as his eyes fell on Bronn once more. “That so?"

Sansa nodded.

"A story I expect Bronn will tell me forthwith.”

“Aye, Hound, ‘tis just as she says. I worked for Tyrion while his family kept her at the Red Mansion against her will. I never hurt her,” Bronn turned to Sansa with a pleading look. “You tell ‘im, lass. Saved you from Meryn a few times, I did.”

Fury rolled off of Sandor in waves. Frowning, he cast Sansa a questioning look. "Is that the way of it?"

“It’s true, he never beat me and he did stop Meryn from doing so at Tyrion’s orders.” Sansa softly confirmed. _I’m sure if Tyrion ordered you to hit me, you would have_ , she added silently.

“Hmph,” Sandor snorted. “So, what are you doing here at this time of night, Bronn?”

“We got our orders.” He handed Sandor a sealed envelope and then glanced between them nervously. “I’ll just be outside.”

Sighing, Sandor fingered the envelope for a moment and then closed his eyes. She waited, holding her breath, until finally he turned to her. “I’ll be back in directly, Sansa,” Sandor kissed her softly on the mouth. “You did right, lass, getting the rifle when you heard someone come in the house.”

 _I got the rifle because I knew who it was,_ Sansa thought to herself, but she said nothing. After she smiled into his kiss, Samsa turned him loose and then retired to the bedroom to pray to her father once more.


	14. Chapter 14

On her way to the den, Sansa noticed the front door was still unlocked, so she latched both the screen and the door before she settled down to watch television. _The Princess Bride_ was on, and so she happily wiled away the time she waited for Sandor to finish discussing his deployment with Bronn.

The man didn’t come back inside the house, much to Sansa’s relief, for she had nothing to say to him. She was not about to apologize for holding him with Sandor’s rifle, not after what happened with Joffrey.  Friend of Sandor’s or not, Bronn would forever be a Lannister man in her mind, and would have to go quite a ways to prove himself changed to Sansa. She could not help but wonder, however, how he managed to leave the Lannister’s service and live to tell it, for in Sansa’s experience, no one left that household without bloodshed.

The creaking of the back screen door drew her attention. Warily she called out: “Sandor?”

“Aye, it’s me, lass. Don’t fret now.” Sandor answered from the kitchen. “You lock the front door?”

Letting out a breath, Sansa snuggled under the furry throw. “Yes, I did. I don’t want any more former Lannisters walking through the front door.” _If Bronn could do it, so could Joffrey._

She heard Sandor sigh from the kitchen. “He feels bad that you were afraid enough to pull the rifle.”

“Well, he earned it, as did the rest of that household.”

Snorting, Sandor let out a harsh laugh. “I’ll bet they did.”

Sansa didn’t want to talk about Bronn or the Lannisters anymore. “Is it still snowing?”

“Just about.” Grinning, he tossed the kitchen towel on the counter and then joined her on the couch. “Only a few flurries now.”

 _It is done, then. The prophecy of my dreams, it is true. Father gave us the sign that winter was coming, and it has indeed. Sandor has his orders, and only the gods know what the future holds for us. Father promised that if I believed, Sandor would survive._ Wringing her hands, Sansa still had difficulty comprehending her dream. She desperately wanted to tell him about it, but with everything that was happening, she was certain Sandor was not ready to hear it.

Sandor eyed her nervous behavior but said nothing; still, it seemed clear enough that while he wouldn’t press her, Sandor still wanted her to offer the source of her unease.

 _I need to speak to the holy woman at the Shawnee sept as soon as possible._ Biting her lip, Sansa pulled back the throw and beckoned to him. “You must be frozen. Let me warm you up.” Sandor eagerly wrapped his arms around her, pulling Sansa close to his body.

“I’m not as thin blooded as you are, lass. Besides, you’re the one that’s cold.” Sandor rasped into her hair. He smelled of pine and wood smoke, the familiar scents comforting Sansa. When the cold metal buttons on his flannel met the skin on her abdomen, she jumped away with a squeal and in so doing earned a hearty laugh from Sandor.

Moving away, he then pulled it off, Sandor taking note of the way she winced as he turned loose of her. Frowning, he then turned toward her once more and studied her side. “Still sore a bit, are you?”

Sansa nodded. “Yes, it’s my ribs again.”

“You’re swollen still. You haven’t fallen or such recently?”

“No, I just carried in supplies at work three days ago.”

“What sort of supplies?”

“You know, bags of coffee, filters, cups, and pastries. Maybe it is the extra exertion that’s causing it.”

Sandor eyed her carefully. “Might be. Could be. Fucking Loras should lift the heavy stuff.”

For some reason, Sansa felt moved to share the story. “I’m not sure if it would matter, Sandor, for I have scar tissue all over the area. Joffrey used to have me beaten by his man Meryn Trant, and he seemed to favor striking me in the ribs.”

“Scar tissue, you say? From someone named Meryn Trant?” The man gritted his teeth until blood began seeping from the corner of his mouth.

“Yes, Meryn Trant. He serves Joffrey still.” Sandor’s silence was beginning to make her nervous, and Sansa could not stop talking. “He’s quite big, though not so big as you.” Sansa swallowed hard. “It happened pretty frequently, and toward the end, it was on a daily basis.”

“Meryn Trant,” Sandor repeated, giving Sansa the uneasy impression he was repeating it to remember the name. “The buggering piece of shit. One day we’ll see how he does with someone his own size.”

Before she could say anything more, Sandor abruptly went into the bedroom and then returned with a container Sansa didn’t recognize.

“What is that?”

“I told Elder brother about the swelling in your ribcage,” Sandor muttered while fumbling with the bottle in his hands. “He gave me this for you. Said it would reduce the pain and swelling. He gave me healing salts, too, to put in the bath.”

“Thank you, Sandor, you are too good to me.” Sansa gingerly sat up with a smile. She had not expected him to tell the Elder brother about _her_ health woes.

Shrugging, Sandor kept his eyes fixed on the hardwood floor, tracing circles there with his toe as he spoke. “Not near good enough, little bird.”

Sansa ignored his comment. “I don’t wish to sound ungrateful, but I hope it doesn’t smell like Ben-Gay.” She hoped her remark would lighten his mood.

“This is arnica and lavender oil, not that other shit,” he shrugged with a laugh, handing her the bottle. “I can put it on, if you like.” Sandor’s hopeful gaze fell on her then, bringing the now familiar deep flush of excitement coursing through her.

“Yes, that would be nice, Sandor.” Beaming, Sansa opened up the flagon of oil and inhaled deeply. ”Oh, it smells lovely.” She brushed away the single tear that had fallen from her lashes.

Kneeling beside her, Sandor heatedly stared at her for a moment and then gave her a devilish grin. “Then take off the sweats, lass, if you mean for me to do this right.”

“Oh, so you have an _alternative_ motive, do you?” Sansa laughed as he eagerly divested her of her sweatpants and top. “I should have known.”

“Bugger that. Let me help you.” The feel of his rough hands smoothing over her skin ignited her desire for Sandor once more. She reached around and unhooked her bra, tossing it into the pile with the rest of her clothing but left on her panties, the young woman not wanting to appear _too_ eager.

Frozen, Sandor stared at her with all his might, but he did not touch her beyond running his hands over back. After his eyes roamed over her, Sandor took her face in his hands. “There’s nothing secretive about the way I feel about you, lass, you best believe that.” His tone was gentle, soft even, and so uncharacteristic that Sansa’s eyes immediately were drawn to his own.

“I do believe it.” Sansa whispered quietly, his words moving her deeply.

Carefully Sandor lay her back among the furs and then began massaging the oil into the skin over her ribcage, lightly at first and then applying more pressure as he went. She never had a massage before and Sansa loved it. The tenderness in his hands moved her deeply, in fact, it felt so good that Sansa couldn’t hold back the sigh of pleasure on her lips.

Grinning, Sandor leaned up and leisurely kissed her, unhurried, undemanding, before he continued moving lower toward her waist. By the time Sandor finished, Sansa was half asleep, and so carefully Sandor removed his shirt and pulled her on top of him. “Sleep, lass,” he breathed into her ear, and before long Sansa indeed had fallen sound asleep.

In the middle of the night, she felt Sandor’s large hands heatedly stroking her body. Warm, rough and yet pleasurable, his touch soon roused Sansa from sleep. His manhood was hard and pressed tightly against the cleft of her bottom while Sandor’s hands caressed her hips and thighs, then moved up her sides until finally he squeezed her breasts. Arching against him, Sansa moaned deeply.

Sandor suddenly sat up and tried to move away, likely to get a condom, but Sansa shook her head and rolled over, straddling him instead. “Let me feel you inside, Sandor, please,” she whispered low into his ear, her breasts brushing the soft hair of his chest.

“No, Sansa, I don’t want to get you with child, not yet, anyway.” Sandor half spoke, half moaned into her ear as she ran the length of her slit over the head of his penis, allowing his member to dip inside as she did so.

“You won’t,” Sansa answered low, “I thought of that. I’ve been on birth control pills to treat another problem for over a year now. It’s safe.”

Suddenly alert, Sandor sat bolt upright while wrapping his arms around her waist to steady her. “What problem? What is the matter, Sansa? Tell me.” His deep gray eyes searched her own.

She did not want to talk about it but felt that since they were lovers, he had a right to know. “It is nothing too serious. I have an ovarian cyst that was causing heavy menstrual bleeding,” Sansa looked away, but Sandor held her face firm in his hands. “So much so, in fact, that I was anemic. The pill is supposed to shrink it. I’ll go in a few months for an ultrasound.”

He let out a deep sigh. “Are you in pain?” Sandor gripped her chin so she couldn’t look away. “Does it hurt when I-“

“No, I’m fine my love,” Sansa whispered against his mouth before deepening the kiss. “My blood count went back to normal, as did my monthly flow.” Gods, Sansa would have rather burst into flames than tell Sandor about her menstrual cycles but what could she do? Well, she _could_ change the subject… “What about you? Are you healthy?”

“You mean: do I have an STI? Is that your question?” He stroked her cheek with his fingers.

“Um, yes.” Sansa stared levelly at him.

“Well bloody hells, you should have asked me before now, if you wanted to know,” he laughed mirthlessly. “You know better than that, with all your nursing education.”

It was true; she knew better than to beat around the bush when broaching such a serious matter. Nervously Sansa bit her lip until Sandor shook his head.

“No, lass, I don’t have HIV, AIDS, or any other STI. If I did, I would have told you straight away.” He brushed his thumb over her lower lip. “I want you but I would never endanger you just to satisfy my desires.”

Smiling, Sansa raised up on her knees and rubbed her slit over his length. He felt so good, that Sansa felt a rush of wetness from her woman's place that soon soaked them both. “Then let me have you this way, Sandor. Please, I _need_ to feel you, all of you, inside of me.”

Groaning out his assent, Sandor gripped her thighs and laid her on her side with her back to him and then wrapped her leg over his hip. “I can feel all of you like this. Your whole body, your hair in my face...by gods but you feel good.” Sandor moaned into her ear as he positioned his manhood at her entrance, gasping as he slid inside of her. “Fuck but you’re wet for me. Let me do the work this time.”

Sansa wasn’t sure what he was about to do, but Sandor’s hands were on her again, with one guiding his penis inside of her while the other tugged at her nipple and then smoothed down over her belly toward her slit. With his arms wrapped around her, skin sliding against skin, the tops of Sandor’s thighs resting on her legs while his manhood was buried deep inside all gave Sansa the feeling of being completely enveloped by him. She marveled at how entirely surrounded she felt in this position, and that Sandor’s manhood caressed a place deep inside that drove her wild with desire with every thrust of his hips.

With his face buried into her neck, Sandor kissed and suckled her pulse point while guiding her hips as the couple slowly settled into a rhythm. Sansa arched into him with each thrust while Sandor circled her clitoris with his fingers, his manhood plunging in and out of her at a faster pace with each whine from her throat. Grinding into his touch, Sansa felt she was on the precipice of something just beyond her reach until suddenly her peak hit her with a force that left her sobbing out her pleasure and begging for more.

Carefully Sandor settled onto his knees with Sansa kneeling on his lap before he began thrusting hard and fast, his passion suddenly breaking through the measured control the man had previously displayed. His frenzied passion drove Sansa toward her next peak before she felt Sandor pulse deep inside her, his orgasm ripping a cry from his throat that was so loud that Sansa wondered if entire neighborhood heard them.

Panting and covered in sweat, Sandor cradled her back against his chest and tenderly moved her to lay down in his arms. When Sansa regained her breath, she could not help but ask the question that had been looming over them: “When are you leaving?”

Sighing, Sansa felt Sandor’s tears dampen her shoulder. He remained silent for a long time until he whispered against her skin. “Tuesday. I leave Tuesday.”

A sharp pain seared through Sansa’s heart, and quickly her eyes snapped up to meet his sheepish gaze. “No-it cannot be! So soon? And without Elder brother’s health clearance?”

“General Tywin requested Bronn and I specifically, Sansa, because Jaime is his son. He called up a few other men as well-Barristan and Oakheart.”

“Even still,” Sansa sobbed out, the young woman desperately grasping to understand his words. "It isn't right."

"Sansa, love, you don’t say no to a four star general when you’re in the service.” Sandor snorted, "Though I'm sure you'd give him a piece of your mind."

Overwhelmed with what could only be described as grief, Sansa choked: “I know you cannot question orders, but what of your PTSD and the nightmares and-“

Sandor shook his head. “Doesn’t matter to him and I'm in no position to question him. The only benefit to this is that if I come back, my service will be over and I’ll be able to retire with full military benefits. We can move anywhere we want, you and I, start a business together, whatever.”  He nuzzled into her neck. Grief-stricken, Sansa could hardly speak.

“But if I don’t, well, you’ll be taken care of,” Sandor inhaled deeply. “You’ll have everything you need and you’ll be safe from that little shit Joffrey. That’s all that matters to me.”

“No!” Sansa cried, unable to hold back. “That is most certainly _not_ all that matters. What matters is that you return to me.”  Sansa turned to face Sandor, holding his face in her hands so that he could not look away from her. “You will return to me, Sandor, I know it.”

Anger flickered through his eyes. “You cannot know such a thing, Sansa.”

“I can and I do. Father showed me in a dream that you would survive, and that we would be together. But you must have faith in my words, Sandor; you must!” Her tears flowing freely, Sansa kissed each cheek before claiming his mouth. “Your survival depends upon it! You must believe in my gift, and that you will survive, no matter what! Say that you will believe, say that you trust me as I trust you.”

Trembling, Sandor seemed taken aback by her outburst. Tenderly he held Sansa’s face in his hands as he ran his thumbs along her jawline, soothing her. “I do, Sansa, I do. But-“

She put her finger over his mouth. “No, there is no room for doubts. There must only be faith and trust. You must believe Sandor, or you will not survive.”

Nodding, Sandor pulled her tightly against him. “I believe in you, Sansa, gods know that I do, even when I have no explanation for it. I-I dreamed of you, when I was over there. Dreamed of returning to you, dreamed of what we would do together, and everything has happened-and even more than I dared hope.”

Stunned, Sansa pulled away slightly to look him in the eyes. The truth was there in Sandor’s gray gaze. Gently he pressed his mouth to her cheeks and to each eyelid, and then tenderly kissed away her tears until finally Sandor swept his lips over hers in a long, slow kiss. “I believe you, Sansa. I have faith in you, if not the gods, and I’ll keep saying it until I feel it as you do.”

“You must, Sandor, for I want to be with you forever,” Sansa sobbed out before she buried her face in his neck. They stayed that way the rest of the night, the couple crying, embracing, and making love by turns.

When Sansa awakened the next day, Sandor was there by her side, watching her intently. “Sansa, I have something to ask you.”

“What is it, Sandor?” Sansa rubbed her eyes. “I’ll do anything for you, my love. Name it and it’s yours.”

“I want to marry you before I leave,” Sandor pulled out a small antique diamond band and took her by the hand. “Today, lass. I want to come back here tonight and have you in my bed as my wife. I want to leave here knowing that you are mine, that everything that is mine is yours, and that nothing can hurt me so long as you love me.”

“Yes, I would love to be your wife,” Sansa anxiously whispered as he placed the ring on her finger. Her heart was full, both of happiness and pain at hearing his proposal. She could not just ignore the many problems that plagued them, and even though they were sharing a bed, there was much they didn’t know about one another. Pulling away sadly, Sansa avoided Sandor’s puzzled expression. “Please don’t be hurt, Sandor, but we have so many issues to deal with-and what of counselling? I thought we both wanted to go and get Elder brother’s advice.”

Abruptly, Sandor embraced Sansa then, pulling her tightly against his chest. “Gods help me, Sansa, but you are an honest hearted woman. We’ll do those things, lass, I swear it, as husband and wife. Things have moved fast, ‘tis true, Sansa, but there’s something at work here that’s beyond our understanding, that much is plain even to an unbeliever like me. What say you, lass? Will you put your faith in me as you would have me do with you?”

“Yes,” Tears filled Sansa’s eyes and she smiled, for nothing had ever felt as right as saying those words to Sandor then. “I will marry you today.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long time between updates. I went on vacation to celebrate my anniversary. I'll update again soon and stick to my regular schedule of every other day from here on out. If you scroll to the end of the chapter, I have included pictures of my inspiration for Sansa's hair, wedding dress, and wedding ring.

“Gods, woman, but I’m not ready to let you go,” Sandor’s warm breath tickled the skin of her abdomen, rousing Sansa from sleep. “I’m not ready to give this up for some buggering tent in some shit hole in the desert.” His large hands spanned her waist, smoothing over her middle, warming her. The intimate tone of Sandor’s voice brought Sansa to tears.

Whispered softly, Sandor’s words sounded like a confession even she was not meant to hear. It was as though she was the one he worshipped, the only one to whom he would make vows, the only person with whom he would share his most intimate thoughts. Though scandalized by the potential sacrilege of his behavior, Sansa nonetheless decided that if that was what he needed, she should not interfere, for who was she to judge his ways in such matters? _Perhaps this is the way he prays, and might be the only form of worship he will ever embrace._ So the young woman patiently waited for him to continue.

Warm lips pressed light kisses along her navel, setting the familiar heat of desire swirling through her veins, his touch making it difficult for Sansa to contain herself. “So soft, so perfect,” Sandor murmured as his lips trailed up to her breasts. “A dog like me is not meant for the likes of you, lass, but I’ll make you my wife just the same.”

Gently he nibbled on each nipple before kissing them and then rested his head in the crook of her neck with a sigh. Wanting him to believe her still asleep, Sansa fought the urge to cradle his head. After hovering over her a moment, Sandor brushed her hair away from her face then rested his head on one breast while tenderly caressing the other. “I’ll come back to you, aye, if I have to make a deal with the devil himself.” Sansa felt the wetness of his tears dampen her skin. “I’ll kill every fucking Lannister there is if I have to. Joffrey and Tywin will pay for all they’ve done.”

 _Was Tywin responsible for my parents and Robb’s deaths?_ _If he was, my brothers and sister won’t be safe until he is gone._ Pursing her lips, Sansa fought the urge to speak.

Sleepily she wrapped her arms around him. “I’ll come back, make this place a home for you, keep you safe.” Sandor sighed against her skin. “I’ll do what I can to help you become a nurse or anything else you might want to do, move you far away from here, start a family-anything you want; just promise you’ll be mine, lass, and I’ll spend my life making it up to you.”

 _It is almost as if he feels guilty for leaving._ It sounded that way to Sansa, but she certainly did not blame him for it. Brienne and Jaime were his friends, and even if Tywin hadn’t called him to active duty, she would not have begrudged him going after Jaime. Like many of the terrible things that had happened in her life, this, too, was the doing of Tywin Lannister.

Not knowing what he needed from her, Sansa rolled him over onto his back and buried her face in the crook of his neck. “I’m yours, love, and there is nothing you need to make up for.”

“Wake you, did I?” Sandor grunted softly as he started to move away.

She did not answer him; instead, Sansa kissed his pulse point and then ran small circles over the spot with her tongue. “I’ll miss this so very much,” she whispered. “Come back to me, my love, as soon as you can.”

“The entire U.S. armed forces combined couldn’t keep me away from you, Sansa, believe that,” Sandor attempted to laugh. It was still dim in the den so she could not see his face, but Sansa had the distinct feeling that he was crying.

“When should we go to Elder brother?” Sansa murmured against his chest, then trailed kisses over his chest and stomach.

Groaning, he finally managed, “As soon as you’re ready. I’ll call him and tell him we want to be married.” Sandor paused a moment, brushing her hair away from her eyes. “You want to find a dress or something?”

Laughing, Sansa smoothed her hands over his skin. “I don’t think we’ll have time. I’ll find something at home.”

He turned her face up to his, and as Sandor stared into her eyes, his normally keen gray gaze softened as he regarded her. “Didn’t you dream of wearing some poufy dress like Cinderella on your wedding day as a wee lass?"

“Of course I did,” Sansa traced small circles over his belly button. “But I am not a child anymore who dreams of knights and fair maidens.”

“That so?” The burned side of his mouth curled mockingly at her.

“Just because I liked such things as a little girl doesn’t mean I expect them in real life,” Sansa bristled. “Joffrey taught me that in life, the monsters win.”

“Believe that, do you?” Sandor searched her face.

Sniffing, Sansa nodded. “Sandor, you are mine as I am yours, and that is all that matters. This is an exceptional circumstance. You cannot believe that I would put off our wedding over a dress.”

“I’ve seen those reality shows on base, woman, don’t try to fool me. Plenty of women do just that.” Sandor’s eyes twinkled as he regarded her, the color lightening to ash in his amusement.

“Oh my god, you guys watch Bridezillas?” Sansa burst out laughing and then used her leverage to roll over onto him.

“Aye, some of the soldiers do, and not just the women,” Sandor tweaked her chin, his eyes suddenly filling with desire. Slowly he rolled his hips and held onto her thighs so she would meet his cadence.

“You devil, you,” Sansa giggled. “What a way to change the subject.”

“Well, are you planning on throwing me over so you can buy a proper dress?” He looked so anxious that Sansa didn’t have the heart to tease him further.

“You know me better than that. Besides, it isn’t like I can just go into a bridal salon and buy a wedding gown.”

Shaking his head, Sandor growled, “I don’t see why not. Won’t they sell you a dress if you have the money, for fuck’s sake?”

“Yes, but it needs to be fitted and that takes time.” Sansa explained, all the while inwardly marveling that she was talking to her future husband about wedding fashion while lying naked in his arms. Her lady mother would turn over in her grave if she knew what her daughter was about.

“Oh, aye.” Sandor sighed deeply. “I remember Brienne said as much when she and Jaime were betrothed.” Lost in thought, Sandor stared at the ceiling.  Sansa could feel his anger simmering.

“You deserve better than some shotgun wedding, Sansa,” he finally spat out. “Better than some shit ceremony thrown together at the last minute.” He gripped her chin, not ungently, and Sansa made sure to stare levelly into his eyes. “Disappointed, are you? Tell me truly.”

“No, I most certainly am not,” Sansa said without hesitation. “I want a _marriage_ , Sandor, not a wedding.” Snuggling down, she resumed placing gentle kisses over his stomach in an attempt to appease him. “I want to say our vows before the gods and men. I want a proper wedding night.”

Sandor laughed then, the sound deep and low. “Aye, I can see that. Well, that I can give you, lass, I promise you.”

Raising up onto one elbow, Sansa smiled at him. “Then let’s get ready, shall we?”

Nodding, Sandor’s mouth twitched into a smile as he scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the shower. “Who should we invite?”

“Brienne, of course,” Sansa frowned, concentrating on lathering his broad muscular chest. “Margaery, Loras, Podrick and Mrs. Olenna.” Turning, Sandor began running the shampoo through Sansa’s hair as she counted off on her fingers. “Jennifer, my friend from class.”

“Oh, aye.” Sandor rinsed her hair. Turning, she looked at him questioningly. “Who do you want to invite?” _Please, not Bronn_.

As if reading her thoughts, Sandor’s lips curled into a smile. “My neighbors on both sides. Brienne, of course. Bronn, if that suits you.” Without waiting for an answer, he started working the conditioner through the ends of her hair.

“Maybe you should get a job in a salon after your service,” Sansa teased while trying to buy herself some time to calm down.

“Bugger that. I’ll only be doing this for you and our little ones, Sansa, believe that.”

At the mention of children, Sansa sighed deeply, lost in the image of being surrounded by children with red hair and grey eyes. _Mother said marriage was one big compromise; perhaps I should start here._ “Bronn can come, I suppose, though I still don’t trust him.”

“Lass, if you don’t want him there, I won’t invite him.” Sandor cleared his throat. “I was just teasing you. But believe me when I say he won’t do you any harm. If I thought for one moment he couldn’t be trusted, I would have shot him myself.”

Fury radiated from Sandor’s eyes, hot and burning, while the coldness in his tone sent a shiver through her. Settling her in front of him, Sandor then held her face in his hands. “And believe me when I tell you that if it takes me until my dying breath, I will finish anyone who hurt you, Sansa, I swear it.”

“I do believe you, Sandor,” Sansa whispered softly as she caressed his cheek. “And I see the truth behind your words. It-it frightens me.”

“I’ll keep you safe, lass, and I swear you’ll never need fear another again.” With that, Sandor tenderly kissed each cheek before brushing his mouth over her own. “It’s what I’ve been trained to do-and it’s what I will do as your husband.” Abruptly Sandor turned, handed her the shampoo bottle and sat on the edge of the tub so she could return the favor.

* * *

After eating a quick breakfast, Sandor returned Sansa to her apartment. Margaery was already there visiting her grandmother, her shrewd blue eyes narrowing in on the diamond ring on Sansa’s finger the moment she exited the truck. Sighing, Sansa knew what was coming and wished she could just disappear.

“What the fuck is wrong with you??” She shrieked after Sandor drove away, all the while grabbing Sansa’s hand and holding it up to the light. “Wow, this is really beautiful. But, are you really going to marry him just because you fucked him?? Is this some religious shit because you feel guilty about it or what??”

“No, that has nothing to do with it. Sandor’s being deployed again on Tuesday,” Sansa felt her lower lip quiver as she spoke the dreaded words. “I don’t know what will happen and I don’t want to wait. Is there something wrong with that?” Suddenly she burst into tears.

“Sansa, don’t cry,” Margaery put her arms around her. “I’m just looking out for you.”

“Margaery, dear, let’s take this indoors, shall we? It isn’t becoming for you to talk in such a way out in public. If you must swear, don’t do it in mixed company,” Olenna demurred, gesturing to the neighbors staring their direction.

Once inside Sansa’s apartment, she hissed at her granddaughter, “You know better than that. I don’t care but I don’t want to lose tenants, so watch your tongue.”

“Sorry, Gran but did you hear what Sansa said?” Margaery dramatically flopped on the couch and threw up her hands. “It’s waay too soon!”

“So says you,” Olenna tisked. “And who asked for your permission, anyway? You sound positively puritanical.”

“But Gran-“

“Margaery, you always preach tolerance and acceptance; well, this is where you get to put your money where your mouth is. Sansa can do whatever she wants. She doesn’t need your your approval. If you are truly her friend,  you will accept her decision and support her.”

“But so soon, Gran?“

“Soon, shmoon!” Olenna waved her hand dismissively. “In my day many couples married right away. No one made fuss over it, and it was no wiser then than it is now. Get over yourself, dear, will you? This side of you is not very attractive.”

Castigated thoroughly, Margaery sheepishly remained silent.

“Did they-the couples, I mean-marry right away because of the war?” Sansa asked, hoping the elderly woman would offer more details on the subject.

“Well, that was one reason, definitely,” Olenna crossed her arms and leaned on the doorframe.

“You think war is a reason to marry?” Margaery stared in mock horror.

“If war isn’t a good reason, what is?” Olenna shrugged. “You never knew what would happen, dear, and besides, who wants to wait for sex? I certainly didn’t. There was this one boy before your grandfather who had the largest-”

“Gran!” Margaery scolded, the young woman blushing heatedly, much to Sansa’s amusement, for she never thought she'd see the day Margaery blushed over anything.

“What, dear?” Olenna heaved a frustrated sigh. “Do you honestly think your generation is the first to enjoy sex? If you only knew the things I did to secure your grandfather's interest-“

Margaery held her hands over her ears.“Lalalala I can’t hear you!”

“Oh fine! You claim not to be a prude but look at you now!” Olenna turned her nose up. “Margaery, your generation is so afraid of commitment it spins my head to think of it. Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained, I always say. Sansa, darling, you marry that big Army man of yours if you want to with my blessing. He clearly adores you and that isn’t something you see every day.”

“We wed later today, ma’am, ” Sansa quietly said, waiting for her landlady to admonish her. “Would you please be our guests?”

“Certainly, darling, we would love to come. Wouldn’t we, Margaery?” There was a distinct warning in her tone.

“Yes, Gran.”

“Tell you what: I’ll even have Margaery drive you there. No use having the man see you before the wedding.” She patted Sansa on the cheek and then took her leave.

After Olenna left and a great deal of pleading on Margaery’s part, it seemed to Sansa that she finally realized all her reasoning was falling on deaf ears. And so Margaery apologized, gave in and decided to help her friend.

“Loras can do your hair.” Margaery clicked her teeth as she examined Sansa’s nails. “You need a mani, though. I can do it for you with quick dry polish while Loras rolls your hair. Red or pink or nude?”

“Nude, please.”

“Okay. And then I’ll do your makeup.” Biting her lip in thought, Margaery quickly texted her brother.

“Yes,” Sansa eagerly nodded, the young woman relieved to have Margaery on her side at last. “That’s so generous of you!”

“Yeah, yeah.” She smirked as Sansa embraced her. “Next we need flowers and a gown.”  Gasping, Margaery clutched her chest, her eyes growing wide. “Oh good gods, where will we ever find a gown on such short notice?! Shit!”

A wave of nerves churned through Sansa, for she had never seen her friend panic over anything, least of all fashion. “I-I saw that a new David’s Bridal opened up last week across from the park.” Sansa offered weakly. “Maybe they will have something-“

“But you don’t even _like_ modern stuff-I’m thinking you’ll want more of a Grace Kelly in _High Society_ look.” Raising her brow, she looked Sansa over.

“Oh, that would be so perfect,” Sansa’s eyes lit up at the mention of her favorite movie, “but we don’t have time-“

“Hmm, I have an idea,” Margaery strummed her fingers on her hip. “Maybe Gran will loan you her gown. Well, it isn’t a long gown, you know, that wasn’t the style back then, but it’s a lot like the dress in the movie with an organza overlay and a crinoline petticoat so the skirt stands out. Oh, and it has the most adorable little roses embroidered over the organza, too. Yes, it would be just perfect for you!”

“Oh, Margaery, I could never ask her to do that!” Sansa insisted, though secretly she loved the idea. “I mean, it’s her _wedding_ gown!” She could never work up the nerve to ask her landlady for such a favor but Sansa had seen Mrs. Olenna’s wedding pictures on her mantle and the dress _was_ beautiful…no, she couldn’t do it.

“Don’t be silly!” Margaery waved her off.

A glimmer of hope once again rose into Sansa’s mind and then all too quickly it was quashed by reason. Surely Mrs. Olenna had been saving it for her _only_ granddaughter...no it was out of the question. Defeated, Sansa softly added, “But your grandma probably means to pass it down to you.”

Margaery rolled her eyes. “She already did. It’s mine, Sansa, and I can loan it to you if I want.”

“When did you see it last? Is it in good shape?”

“The last time I saw it was when I almost married Osney last year. It looked like it had just came from the bridal salon but I didn’t want it. It’s in my closet at home, still sealed from the cleaners.”

Sansa struggled to hide her cautiously optimistic tone. “Why didn’t you want to wear it if it is so pretty, then?”

“Yes, it’s gorgeous and it’s preserved perfectly. But like, I don’t want the old thing-no offense, honey.” She hurriedly added as a horrified Sansa gaped at her. “We’ve got plenty of money! You’ve seen Highgarden Plantation-why should I settle for an old dress? Besides, I’m more of a Vera Wang kind of girl; you understand me.”

She most certainly did. Though Sansa had received some of her family’s money after her parents passed, she had no desire to blow it, not even on a wedding gown. Sniffing, it was Sansa’s turn to roll her eyes. “Well, would you consider loaning it to me with your grandma’s blessing, of course?”

“Gran, will you let Sansa wear your wedding gown today?” Margaery called out the door.

“Am I invited to the wedding?” Mrs. Olenna called from her flowerbed.

“Yes.” Margaery shook her head at Sansa. “So, what do you say?”

“Of course she may wear it. It might need to be let out a bit.”

Fuming, Sansa frowned until Margaery explained, “She doesn’t mean anything by it, just an old lady who needs to remind everyone of how small she was when she married,” she giggled. “Just let her have her say. Anyway, you’re about my size and I fit into it perfectly. No worries, I’m sure you won’t need to alter it. What size shoe do you wear?”

“Seven and a half.”

“Awesome! That’s my size and I have a pair of shoes I bought to match that I’ve never even worn-raw silk _Manolos_ , no less.”

 _It’s all coming together,_ Sansa smiled to herself. Margaery swatted her on the bottom. “Don’t just stand there like a statue. I’m going upstairs to grab the dress. Go, get your prettiest lingerie on and grab your makeup. Loras will be here any minute.”

 _Loras will be here while I’m in my underthings?_ _Even if he is gay, Sandor wouldn’t like that._ Anxiously Sansa stuttered out: “But won’t I need to wear a robe, or-“

With a shake of the head, Margaery laughed openly at her. “Honey, Loras doesn’t care if he sees you in your panties, believe me.”

Embarrassed, Sansa lowered her eyes until Margaery rested her hand on her back. “But if makes _you_ feel better, then yes, put on your robe.”

* * *

An hour and a half later, Sansa was dressed and ready for her wedding. Loras had rolled her hair with soup cans and brushed  it into a forties victory style while Margaery painted her nails and did her makeup. After he sprayed her hair, Loras then tucked white and pink peonies into her hair at the base of her neck.

“Gorgeous, just gorgeous! This has to be the fastest a bride has ever gotten ready,” Loras beamed as he stood back and took in at the overall effect. “We should enter this in The Guinness Book of World Records.”

“Shut up, you queen,”  Margaery laughed at him. As for Sansa, she barely heard the siblings trading barbs, so absorbed was she in her reflection. In fact, the young woman hardly recognized herself in the mirror. The woman staring back at her looked so happy, so calm and relaxed, and  so unlike the frightened child she had been for so long that Sansa was overwhelmed. Unbidden tears dampened her face.

“On no no no, don’t cry, Sansa!” Loras gently dabbed her cheeks. “Don’t you like it?”

There was no denying that her friends had given her a lovely makeover. “I’m just emotional…I'm...” Sansa hesitated as she smiled at herself in the mirror.

“Oh girl, go on and say it!” Loras insisted, kissing her on the cheek. “You know you want to.”

“I’m beautiful,” she softly breathed out. After Joffrey’s verbal abuse, Sansa truly believed she was ugly, despite the many compliments she often received. Even after she escaped the Red Mansion, his cruel words stayed with her, echoing in her ears every time she looked at her reflection, until Sansa no longer allowed herself to think anything positive about her appearance.

Now, the very act of saying those words aloud to herself in the mirror was an exhilarating, liberating experience for Sansa. Swallowing hard, she looked to Margaery for reassurance.

“Go on, Sansa honey, you can do better than that,” Margaery nudged her. “Fuck what that little bitch of an ex of yours said to you. He’s not worth shit and you have a real man who loves you, who would never hurt you. Say it loud, say it proud: ‘I’m Sansa Stark and I’m beautiful!’”

Biting her lip, she wasn’t sure she could, but after a moment’s pause, Sansa confidently repeated Margaery’s words: “I have a real man who loves me and will never hurt me. I’m Sansa Stark and I’m beautiful.”

“Damned right you are, all gussied up and ready to wed!” Olenna said loudly from the door. “And don’t you let those bloody uppity Lannisters or anyone tell you otherwise ever again or they’ll get their comeuppance from me.”

Beaming, Sansa hugged each of them until Margaery said, “Come on then, let’s go to the base.” Before she left her apartment, Sansa took her father's wedding band from her jewelry box, kissed it, and said a quick prayer that he would bless their union. After examining it, Sansa doubted it would fit Sandor's large finger, and so she took out a silver necklace that also belonged to her father, looped the ring through it and put it in her purse.

"I've got the camera," Loras grinned as he helped her in the car. "Let's give our girl away!"

* * *

Several service people smiled at Sansa as she made her way to Elder brother’s office. _Has Sandor told people he’s getting married today?_ She wondered after one man offered her his best wishes.

“We’ll wait outside until the ceremony,” Loras opened the door for her.

“Okay, thank you for everything,” Sansa kissed his cheek. Speechless, she slowly made her way inside. She could see Sandor’s tall build pacing anxiously on the other side of the frosted glass doors.

A tall, older man with a square jaw and shaved head opened the door to the interior office and smiled at her. “I am Elder brother. You must be Sansa Stark. Your groom is waiting for you most anxiously.”

A girlish giggle escaped her lips. She noticed he wore a burgundy sash around the outside of his uniform.

“I suppose you already saw him. He is rather hard to miss.” Elder brother joined her in laughter.

Finally, Sansa nervously whispered: “Forgive me; I am rather nervous. It’s so nice to finally meet you.” Sansa felt like once she started, she couldn’t stop talking. “Sandor has said so many nice things about you. I cannot thank you enough for seeing us today. I hope I haven’t kept you both waiting for very long.”

“No, not at all, my dear. It is as it should be. This is your day, after all.” He placed his hand on her back, smiled and led her inside.

Shyly Sansa slowly looked toward Sandor. With his huge form clad in his dress uniform, he had been pacing at the far end of the room but the man now stood frozen in place as his deep gray eyes met her own. Without a word, the fierce soldier who was to be her husband held his arms out to Sansa, the affectionate attitude in Sandor’s demeanor in striking contrast to his formidable appearance. Eagerly Sansa hurried to his side and took his hands. "My love! How handsome you look!"

Sandor barked out a harsh laugh. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Elder brother discreetly retire to the outer office.

“You did all this in an hour?” Sandor hungrily looked her over, the man delicately touching the flowers in her hair. It seemed to her that he was trying to make sure she was real, for his hands then moved from her hair to her cheek and then down to her collar before Sandor wrapped his arms around her waist in a tight grip.

“I had some help from our guests,” Sansa blushed and nodded toward the door. “Mrs. Olenna lent me her gown and Loras and Margaery helped me with my hair and makeup. I didn't see Brienne or Pod.”

"They're on the way," Sandor answered absently while he stared at her so intensely that Sansa began to feel self-conscious under his scrutiny. He seemed to notice, too; raising his hand to her cheek, Sandor ran his finger over her jawline, leaned forward and rasped low in the shell of her ear: “Still with the blushing, are you? After all the naughty things we’ve done together? Might be I’ll have to do something about that later.”

“Oh, Sandor, just being so close to you...while you’re looking at me in such a way is most…thrilling.” _Yes, thrilling was a better choice of word than arousing._ Swallowing hard, Sansa felt her cheeks flush hot as his implication brought a flood of pleasurably indecent memories to mind. The familiar ache between her legs returned as she placed her hand over the palm that cupped her face. “It’s almost as though your gaze is a physical caress. I feel it all through my body.” Shyly she looked up through her lashes at him.

Sandor laughed then and reverently took both her hands in his own. “Sansa, you’re beautiful, lass, truly and a sweeter woman there never was. A lucky man I am.”  Carefully he smoothed his hand over the organza material of her gown. “Elder brother has agreed to marry us on the condition that we accept a year of counselling twice a week. Does that suit you?” Sandor’s eyes darkened as he spoke, as though he was still afraid she would reject him as her husband.

“Yes-yes, that would be wonderful!” Standing on her toes, Sansa impulsively kissed him on each cheek and then on the mouth. "Thank you, love, that eases my mind greatly."

Pleased, Sandor handed her a bouquet of white and pink roses and peonies.

"How beautiful! Thank you!" She kissed him once more. "The bouquet matches the flowers in my hair! How did you know?"

"Loras may or may not have texted me the name of the flowers to get, as well as a picture for the florist." Grinning at her shocked expression, Sandor then looped her arm through his own. “Come on then, little bird, let’s get married.”

Breathlessly, Sansa whispered, “Yes, Sandor. I’m ready to become your wife for true.”

Once more, Sandor spent a long moment just drinking in the sight of her and then bent to tenderly kiss Sansa on the lips."And I am ready to become your husband."

Just then Elder brother entered the room, causing the couple to separate self-consciously. “Sandor, Sansa: shall we begin?”

      

 


	16. Chapter 16

As Elder brother laid down the conditions for performing the marriage, Sansa barely heard the holy man's words as she stared at Sandor, smiling all the while. She smiled the entire time he explained the ceremony, smiled even as he asked if there were problems between them, and only answered after repeated prompting.

“Pardon me, perhaps I didn’t speak loudly enough: do either of you have any serious problems or doubts about the relationship?” Elder brother raised his brow.

Embarrassed though she was, Sansa was pleased to see that Sandor appeared to be similarly distracted. Deep gray eyes full of longing searched her face while large hands caressed her cheek in an almost worshipful fashion, the man veritably drinking in the sight of her, as though he was trying to commit every detail of her features to memory for the time they would part. She then nudged Sandor, willing him to go first.

 _We cannot just spend the entire ceremony standing here staring at each other and ignore the holy man at our wedding_ , she cursed herself when he remained silent. _You must say something-anything._

"Yes and no, Elder brother. It seems the origin of our problems do not rest between us,” Sansa finally answered quietly, reluctantly tearing her eyes away from her fiancé. “The problems we have faced-well, they reveal themselves when our respective pasts intrude on us.”

“Sandor, what say you on the matter?” Elder brother glanced at Sandor, waiting for his reply.

Clearing his throat, Sandor then attempted to speak, his voice curt and strained with nerves. “True enough, that.” He finally managed.

“And what might those troubles entail specifically?” Elder brother leaned in close. “Please, free yourself, Ms. Stark. I am not here to judge, only to offer help.”

Normally Sansa would have bristled at such a question, but the elder man looked between them with such genuine concern and affection that she blurted out: “I have problems with trusting men in particular due to physical and verbal abuse I experienced at the hands of another man.”

Sandor’s face turned to stone, but the man did not interrupt her. Gently he squeezed her hand. “It’s okay, Sansa.”

“I see,” Elder brother’s grave eyes fell on Sandor’s clenched fists resting his knees. “Would you like to share a bit about the situation, my dear? It is understandable if you do not wish it on your wedding day. We can talk about it another time.”

Her palms damp, suddenly Sansa felt as though the air had been driven from her lungs. She did not want to think of those things, especially on her wedding day, but she knew she must. Not knowing what else to do, quietly she prayed to her father and immediately Ned’s deep reassuring voice resounded in her mind. _You need a fresh start with Sandor and talking about it will help you heal._

Shakily Sansa drew a deep breath. “No, please Elder brother, I wish to tell you, to have a fresh start as my father would say. Joffrey Baratheon is his name; he is the nephew of Jaime Lannister. He was my fiancé, but not of my own free will.”

Elder brother’s heavy brow knitted into a frown as she spoke, while Sandor’s hand tightened on her own. “Our betrothal was arranged by our parents as a political alliance. After my parents died, they forcibly kept me in the Red Mansion until I escaped and returned to my family home in Alaska.”

Squinting, Elder brother studied her before turning to Sandor. “That must have been a very frightening experience.” After a moment, he asked gently: “Are you a person of faith, Sansa?”

“Yes,” she eagerly nodded. “I follow Catholicism somewhat loosely-actually, very little. But I am devoted the Ojibwa spiritual beliefs of my father. Is that acceptable?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Sandor interrupted, the sound of his voice a low snarl, his tone immediately causing Sansa to jerk her head toward him in shocked silence. “This is a free country or so I’ve been led to believe, so why would you ask her such a thing?”

“A good question, Sandor, and one that has a simple answer. If Sansa has a spiritual side in her life, then I want to honor that in my advice to her and in your marriage ceremony, just as I honor your atheism by tailoring my guidance to your needs.” Elder brother rose.

Snorting, Sandor grudgingly nodded but still remained tense. "I'm no atheist, just an agnostic. When I see it, then I'll believe it."

“We needs not revisit this just now, Sandor, as we discussed it earlier. Sansa, I would recommend that you have a series of private sessions with me while Sandor is deployed to help you work through your trauma. It is imperative for the health and future of your relationships, as well as for your own good mental health.”

“I would like that very much,” Sansa beamed at Sandor. He looked as though he were about to protest but upon looking into Sansa’s eyes, he changed his mind.

Elder brother watched the silent exchange between them before speaking. “As his wife, Sandor’s medical benefits will extend to you, so you need not worry about cost. Now then, is there anything you would like to say to one another before we proceed with the wedding?”

Turning to Sandor, Sansa suddenly felt the absence of her family, the familiar pain of grief once more cutting into her heart acutely. _Father, how I wish you and the family were with me now. Please bless our marriage._ Drawing a deep breath, she gazed long and deep into his eyes as she cupped his cheek.

“Sandor, I know we have a difficult road ahead of us, and that it is very soon to enter into a serious commitment like marriage. But despite this, I am committed to you in my heart and I am devoted to working together making our relationship as good as it possibly can be and to letting go of the past.” Tears filled her eyes. “I want us to heal together and do better for ourselves and each other than either of us have known before. And I know love will see us through.”

Elder brother smiled at her. “Recognizing the need for change and being willing to work for it is the first and most important step toward change, my lady.” He then turned to Sandor.

His clenched jaw was so tight that the vein at Sandor’s temple prominently stood out. After coughing a bit, he rasped low, “It is soon, I admit, and I’m sure many will tell you it’s _too_ soon to wed. Well, bugger that. They don’t know us, how we are together, what we’ve been through. I don’t give a fu-“ Gritting his teeth, Sandor cleared his throat once more. “I don’t _care_ what anyone says, little bird. You’re a strong woman, and you somehow managed to stay sweet and pure and honest despite the sh-uh, trials you’ve been through. I don’t deserve you, lass, but I love you true. The only thing that matters is that you love me and that I love you.”

Sansa started to speak, but upon noticing her parted lips, Sandor gently rested his finger on her mouth. “Let me get this out, Sansa, before I choke on my fucking tongue.”

Nodding, she smiled and squeezed his hands.

“I’ll keep you safe, and I’m committed to getting whatever help I need to make this work.” Tenderly he stroked the back of his finger against her cheek. “I feel complete with you by my side. We belong together.”

Smiling, Elder brother looked between them. “Do you have sponsors?”

“Oh, yes, we each have two.” Sansa beamed at Sandor. “In the custom of my father’s people, a couple must have at least four respected members of the community as sponsors.”

“What in buggering-“ Sandor abruptly corrected his rough language. “What for?”

“To ensure the couple is taking their vows seriously. There is no allowance for divorce in the Ojibwa custom, Sandor, and in this way the tribe provides marriage counselling and support for the duration of the marriage.”

“It is a beautiful custom, one I wish more religious institutions would adopt,” Elder brother smiled. “I can both serve and officiate, if that pleases you.”

“Aye, good on you, then,” Sandor agreed and shook his hand. Sansa happily assented.

“And Brienne Tarth Lannister; she’s my next one.”

“And who would you have as sponsors, Ms. Stark?” Elder brother inquired.

“Um, forgive me but I’m afraid one of my friends might not be accepted.” Sansa played with the rose petals on her bouquet, her face coloring as she spoke.

“How so?” Elder brother studied her curiously. “Please, do elaborate.”

Clergymen made Sansa nervous, which is probably why she didn’t take to her mother’s religion but Elder brother was so amiable and warm that she decided she would go ahead and speak her mind.

“Well, one of my friends is married: her name is Jennifer Running Bear but she is not a Christian.” Sansa’s hands began shaking. “My friend Loras was married but recently lost his spouse in the war.”

“I’m not a Christian either, my dear," Elder brother patted her hand. "that is to say, I believe in Christ but I do not belong to his religions. I am Buddhist.”

“Oh, how foolish of me to forget-I’ve never known anyone of that faith.” Sansa blushed deeply.

Elder brother chuckled but soon turned serious. “I am truly sorry to hear that your friend lost his mate. But losing his spouse would not prevent him from participating in your wedding.”

“Well, the fact is, Loras is gay,” Sansa whispered, cringing as she gauged his reaction. “I understand that his marriage was not well received among the military.”

Sneering, Sandor chuckled under his breath. “Go get ‘em, little bird.”

Hurriedly Sansa explained: “Please, Elder brother, I do not wish to be confrontational. I just feel it is better to be upfront. If you cannot marry us, if it violates your beliefs, I’ll understand. Such was commonplace among the clergy of my mother’s religion.”

“Buggering hells, I won’t understand.” Sandor growled out beside her. “Why should anyone care who Loras-“ he looked over at Elder brother before finishing, “um, marries?”

Folding his hands, Elder brother glanced between the couple and then nodded understandingly. “Sandor speaks truly: both as an Army chaplain and as a clergyman, I can say with certainty that our record in this area has been less than exemplary. Unfortunately, Sansa, you have every reason to be wary. But such is not the case anymore: this is your ceremony, not that of the military.”

“Aye, if you say so,” Sandor smirked and turned away, his glittering eyes and bitter attitude alarming Sansa at once. _Did Sandor have to meet some special requirement in order to be allowed to marry?_ She desperately wanted to ask him about it but hesitated to interrupt the proceedings.

“Tell me truly, is there any _other_ objection, Sansa?” Elder brother probed gently before Sansa could bring up her question.

“I’m not sure I understand,” Sansa squeezed Sandor’s hand nervously. “Loras’ orientation is not my issue or Sandor’s, for that matter. In fact, I believe it is no one’s business but his.”

“There’s my wolf,” Sandor leaned over and kissed her hand.

“Quite right, Ms. Stark,” Elder brother genially grinned at the pair. “I am glad to hear you say such. What I meant to ask is this: is the young man’s orientation at odds with your personal spiritual beliefs?”

“No,” Sansa said quietly. “He is two-spirited by our culture and there is no stigma attached to it. In fact, he would be looked upon as lucky among the Ojibwa.”

“I have no issue with it, either,” Sandor gruffly responded while crossing his legs. “Religion or no, the man can do whatever he wants. That’s why we serve, isn’t it? So people are free to live their lives any way they choose?” Sandor laughed mirthlessly. “Loras is good to my bride and me, that’s all that matters.”

“Then it is settled: Loras will be your second, Sansa. For our needs, all that is required is that the sponsors have been married.” Elder brother announced with a smile, the man visibly relaxing as he did so. “Please, sign your marriage certificate and then invite in your guests so we can begin.”

As each guest entered the chapel, they first approached the couple and offered their well wishes. Sansa paid especially close attention to each of their offerings, the young woman cherishing each of them in her heart. When they were finished, Elder brother began the ceremony.

“Who pledges these two people in marriage?” The holy man asked as he looked toward Jennifer and Loras, who were seated in the first pew.

“My husband and I do,” Jennifer stated clearly as she stood. “By the Great Spirit, we pledge our spiritual and marital guidance for the life of Sandor Clegane and Sansa Stark’s union.” Her husband handed Sandor and Sansa each their own red flannel pouch filled with *allspice, basil, borage flowers, comfrey root, cherry bark and red clover. Beaming, Sansa kissed each of the young man’s cheeks in thanks, while Sandor, while clearly confused, nonetheless grunted out his appreciation.

“Together with my family, I pledge Sansa and Sandor in marriage,” Loras nervously promised. “I-I was not married very long, but I will help them in any way I can, both individually and as a couple for the rest of their lives, as will the rest of my family, so help me God.”

“Thank you for all you did for Sansa,” Sandor shook his hand, after which Sansa kissed him on the cheek and handed him a rose from her bouquet.

“For Renly.” She whispered.

Swallowing hard, Loras squeezed Sansa tightly in response before returning to his seat.

Teary-eyed, Brienne then stood and took Sandor and Sansa’s hands in her own. “I, too, pledge Sandor and Sansa in marriage. Come what may, I will be there to help them for the rest of their lives.” She then made the sign of the cross over her heart. Afterward, Sandor quickly handed Brienne a single rose, to which she sadly smiled and then kissed his cheek before taking her position.

“Thank you.” Elder brother then turned to Sandor and Sansa. “I, too, pledge Sandor and Sansa in holy matrimony, and will support, counsel, and nurture them individually and as a couple for the rest of their days. Sandor, Sansa: we will now proceed with the handfasting.”

His mouth twitched into a grin as Sandor raised their joined hands. With solemn deliberation, Elder brother bound them together with a tartan bearing the pattern Sansa recognized as belonging to House Clegane, thus uniting them as one in the sight of gods and men.

Elder brother smiled broadly. “Now, face one another and say the words: _I am yours as you are mine from this day until the end of my days_.”

Nervously the couple simultaneously repeated their vows to one another, after which Sandor kissed her very tenderly on each cheek. Never had Sansa been so happy, and the young woman could not hold back the happy tears that glistened in her eyes.

“I now pronounce Sandor and Sansa as husband and wife, joined in  holy matrimony forever in this life and the next. What the gods and men have yoked together, let no one tear asunder.” Elder brother pronounced, a large smile brightening his face as he did so.

Everyone cheered around them as Sandor swept Sansa up in his arms, took her face in his hands and ardently kissed her on the mouth until Elder brother cleared his throat.

The sound of the chapel doors swinging open turned all eyes on Tywin Lannister himself, the general flanked by four members of the military police as he entered the chapel. At once, Sandor, Elder brother and Brienne stood at attention and saluted.

Confused, Sansa watched Sandor’s face drain of all color, save for his scarring. “Clegane,” the older man’s haughty eyes fell on Sansa, his mouth curling into a smirk as recognition further darkened his expression. “I see that, despite the odds, you have found a most lovely woman to become your bride.”

“Yes, sir,” Sandor replied by rote.

 _Good gods, this man is Joffrey’s grandfather._ She had never met him while they were engaged, but Sansa had seen the pictures of the stoic general that decorated nearly every corner of the Red Mansion. Unable to bear the palpable tension, she decided to take the initiative, and so nervously Sansa held out her hand. “I am Sansa Clegane, sir. I am most glad to meet you.”

“Are you now?” Tywin mockingly raised his brow as he accepted her hand. “That comes as a bit of a surprise. Do you think I do not recognize you?”

 _I am a Stark; I can be brave._ “I beg your pardon, sir?”

“You were engaged to my grandson, were you not?” His eyes bore into her own.

Reddening angrily, Sansa set her jaw and met his gaze. “I was indeed, and kept at the Red Mansion after the murder of my parents and eldest brother. We have long since broken off our engagement, as I am certain you are already aware.”

Smirking, the older man nodded knowingly. “Forgive me, Mrs. Clegane,” he addressed Sansa slowly, every syllable dripping with sarcasm as he spoke, “but your wedding celebration will have to wait until my son is returned to me.”

 _No, they cannot take him now! Not when we were just married-it is unthinkable!_ Desperately she looked toward Sandor, who, along with Brienne and Elder brother, had his eyes fixed on some unknowable point on the farthest wall of the chapel. Pale, every muscle in Sandor's body was strung taut with anger while a fine trickle of blood crept out of the corner of his mouth. Fearfully Sansa noticed her husband's eyes now gleamed in a most frightening manner. It was then that the truth of their situation dawned on Sansa: _Sandor was going to ask me to marry him even before he knew Jaime was missing_ _and he needed the general’s permission to marry. He was most likely refused until he agreed to return Jaime so that we could wed._

A deep grievous ache swept over her heart, but Sansa remained silent as she watched General Lannister gesture to the MPs to stay back. “Master Sergeant Clegane, you are hereby ordered to report for active duty at once.”

Rage twisted Sandor’s features as the general spoke. Unblinking, Sansa began to tremble, though shock had numbed her mind into a blank state. Behind her, she heard Margaery hiss out, “Oh, hell no! Fuck this shit,” which was quickly followed by her grandmother’s admonishment.

Worriedly Loras stepped forward and placed his arm around Sansa’s waist. “It’s going to be alright, Sansa, I promise. We’ll get you through it.”

 _Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know,_ the words to her favorite song came to Sansa’s mind _. If Sandor realizes how angry you are, he will kill every last man here. Father, please do not let Sandor lose his temper now. They will punish him even more if he doesn’t obey, and if he sees how upset I am, there is no telling what he will do. Please, help him calm down,_ Sansa prayed silently.

Looking around, Sansa noticed she was not the only one who was worried about her husband’s reaction. Anxiously the MPs stood wooden like while watching Sandor’s every move, as did Brienne and Elder brother.

For his part, Sandor remained motionless, though blood now seeped from the corner of Sandor’s mouth as he finally rasped low: “Yes, ser.”

“Sargent First Class Lannister, step forward.” Tywin commanded.

“Yes, sir.” Brienne moved beside Sandor and then stood at attention.

“You will ready your things and join him forthwith.”

Biting her lip, Sansa noticed Brienne’s huge blue eyes filled with tears. It seemed strange that, as her father in law, General Lannister didn’t even offer her the slightest condolence or even acknowledge Brienne as a member of his family but instead merely addressed her as would any other soldier. Suddenly the true origin of Joffrey’s cruel behavior became much clearer, though Sansa was far too upset to think on it just then.

“Yes, sir.” She finally managed.

“Major Willem Darry*, you will take care of both Clegane and Lannister’s personnel files, is that understood?” Tywin next turned to Elder brother. “And you will expedite his marriage license and certificate as well as his benefits to his wife.”

“Yes, sir.” Elder brother cast a short glance at Sansa, giving her a slight reassuring nod.

Turning toward Sansa once more, the general glowered at her. “You’ve taken quite a fall socially, haven’t you, Sansa?”

“I do not comprehend your meaning, sir,” Sansa feigned ignorance as she dipped her head, all the while the simmering bile in her stomach threatened to make her ill.

“Then let me speak plainly: going from a blue blooded Lannister to a mongrel like Clegane here is quite a comedown for Eddard Stark’s eldest daughter.” The man laughed emptily. Before Sansa could reply, he then spat out: “You have ten minutes to say goodbye to your new husband.” Waving his hand, Tywin then called out as he exited the chapel: “You men and Sargent Lannister, follow me.”

After the general left, Elder brother hurriedly cleared the chapel before turning to Sandor and Sansa. “My private quarters are just down the hall. Sandor, Sansa, go say your goodbyes there, and I will come for you when the MPs return.”

Sansa started to thank him but the holy man held up his hand. “Don’t waste your words on me, child; go now with your husband.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Allspice, basil, borage flowers, comfrey root, cherry bark and red clover are herbs used in Native American medicine to ensure safe travel, protection from illness and injury, and from harm from strangers. They are also used to bless marriages and ensure financial security, keep the couple as well as the children safe from harm, stimulate and maintain a a satisfying sexual relationship between the couple, promote peace and calm in the home and between the couple. Red flannel is the traditional material for such pouches, which are worn around the neck in times of distress or danger.
> 
> The Ojibwa people are a matriarchal society and so the woman is the one who traditionally speaks for the family, and Jennifer’s doing so here reflects her respect for Sansa’s culture.
> 
> Handfasting is a Scottish wedding custom.
> 
> The ASOIAF theory about Elder brother’s true identity found here on Westeros.org: http://asoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/topic/108178-who-is-the-elder-brother/
> 
> Make of it what you will ;)


	17. Chapter 17

After Lord Tywin walked out of the room, Sansa’s legs began to shake uncontrollably while a singular numbness started to creep over her mind, the woman unwilling to accept Sandor’s imminent departure. _We were lying together just this morning, playing at our lovemaking, planning our wedding and now-now he’s leaving!_ _How could this have happened?_ _Why would the general choose their wedding, of all times, to take Sandor away?_

Observing the general’s cold countenance, it became clear to Sansa that the man seemed as though he was devoid of normal sentiments, and that he also did not care about the happiness nor the feelings of anyone other than himself.   _Poor Brienne was left standing in shock as he hurried past her. He didn’t even take his daughter in law into account; his only thought was retrieving his son_.

While the latter was certainly understandable, it was completely unthinkable that the general would choose their _wedding ceremony_ as the precise moment in which to call Sandor up to active duty. And yet that is exactly what happened: and in the matter of a few minutes, the state of the young woman’s heart vacillated from elation to despondency, from incandescent joy to the darkest anguish Sansa had felt since her family was taken from her.

 _Sandor is leaving. He is leaving right now_. Her head swam with the many things she wished to say to him but unfortunately her upheaval rendered Sansa speechless. Sandor’s terse demeanor told Sansa she was not alone in her misery, and that he too was greatly disappointed by the sudden turn of events that abruptly ended what should have been the happiest day of their lives.

Trembling and unable to find her voice, she reached out for Sandor, who quickly moved to her side and put his arms around her, steadying her. “Easy wife. Don’t faint on me now.”

It was true: Sansa was very well on her way to passing out, for his words recalled that her mind and body felt the same when she saw her father murdered. Struggling to calm her nerves, it was with great effort that she finally managed to speak. “I’m not going to faint.” No more had Sansa whispered her words then her knees buckled beneath her.

Sandor caught her at once and lifted her into his arms. “Sansa, easy, love.”

Margaery took her hand. “Sansa, honey, take a few deep breaths with me now.” The young woman inhaled deeply and motioned for Sansa to do the same. When she followed along, Margaery smiled. “That’s the way. Just a few more now. It won’t do to have you faint dead away on your wedded day.”

Gently Sandor carried her toward the door. “Come on, let’s get to Elder brother’s rooms.”

“Wait, before you go, let’s get one shot,” Loras called out to the couple, the sound of his voice shaking Sansa from her wretched reverie. Raising his camera, the young man added: “I know this may not seem like the thing to do right now but let me take your picture. You’ll be glad of it later.”

“Oh yes, Sandor, let’s have a picture of us taken.” Fearing her husband would say no, Sansa forced a tight smile and gently tugged him into place. “We can show it to our children one day.”

“Alright.” Annoyance veritably radiated off Sandor’s body as he settled her on her feet and then pulled Sansa close. “But make it quick. General’s waiting.” Sandor venomously spat out the last sentence.

“I know, big man, but trust me, you’ll be happy you did this later on. And Sansa looks far too beautiful to not have her picture made.”

“Aye, she does at that,” Sandor glanced down at her, the corner of his mouth pulling into a tight smile as he looked her over. “A beautiful bride you are, lass.”

Quickly Loras talked them through a few poses. “I’ll put them on Snapfish, Sandor, and you can access them from your phone anytime you want. I’ll send you the link.”

“Many thanks. Come, Sansa.” Sandor’s expression was tightly schooled even as he tenderly traced her cheek with his fingers, sighed and then took her by the hand.

The touch of his hand felt so good that Sansa wondered at how she would ever learn to live without it. Dazedly her mind struggled to comprehend the altogether unexpected turn of events as Sandor led her toward Elder Brother’s private quarters.

There was so much that Sansa needed to say to him, so many things left unfinished between the couple; but, in that moment, her words fled and all Sansa could think of was how desperately she wanted to feel his arms around her, to draw comfort and strength from him. No more had Sandor closed the door than Sansa flew into his arms like the little bird to whom he so often likened her.

She could not get close enough to him, and so Sansa grasped his sides as she pulled herself closer still. Strong arms suddenly lifted her into a tight embrace and then Sandor kissed Sansa on her forehead. Closing her eyes, she tried hard to memorize everything about their embrace-the way his muscular arms felt around her body, his scent, even the rhythm of his breathing-the young woman viewing each little act as something to remember, to savor and sustain her during their time apart.

“Little bird, I hope your gods forgive me for this.” Sandor finally rasped into the top of her hair, breaking the silence of the room as he gathered her close. “I’m sorry. Sorry about today, sorry that I have to leave you. You deserve better.”

Shivering, Sansa’s words caught in her throat. “All of those things are beyond your control.”

“I owe you a wedding night.” Sandor attempted to laugh. “I owe you so much more than this, believe that.”

“You had no way of knowing General Tywin would take you away today. And besides, it is part of your job. You have nothing to be sorry about.” Sansa finally managed, though she was certain Sandor felt the sharp tremor that moved through her body as she spoke. “This is totally beyond your control.”

“Aye that it is.” Sansa watched as Sandor clenched his jaw while struggling to contain his emotions. Finally he drew a deep breath. “But I never meant for you to go through this. And you’ll never do so again, I swear it.”  

“Sandor, I understand that your commitment and duty to the military comes first.” Sansa whispered, lowering her eyes as she spoke, for she could not bear the immeasurable pain in Sandor’s expression any longer. “I knew that when I first saw you in uniform.”

“Aye, but it’s always is harder to be left behind than to be the one to go, believe that.” Sandor caressed soothing circles over her back. “I’d not have you go through this buggering fiasco.”

“I know that all too well,  and…though it is difficult, I accept it.” Even though it was true that she did understand such things, it still didn’t make it any less painful, but Sansa kept that part to herself even as her eyes filled with bitter tears.

“Never again, lass.” Calloused fingers traced her jaw, urging her to raise her eyes. “I’ll never leave you again, I swear it.”

Hesitantly Sansa stared into his eyes, and at once Sandor’s own darkened as he returned her gaze.

“Pretty little bird. I see the tears in your eyes. Already regretting you wed me, are you?” The intensity of his insecurity, trepidation and yearning in Sandor’s expression burned into her.  Despite her misery, Sansa understood what Sandor needed from her.

“I will _never_ regret marrying you,” she met his gaze calmly, refusing to look away from his daunting regard.  “Never.  It is absolutely impossible.” Sansa cupped his cheek. “I love you. I meant my vows, Sandor. You mustn’t fear that I will abandon you or grow tired of waiting.”

Without breaking eye contact, Sandor brushed his hand over her cheek. “I’m not one for flowery speeches and such, you know that, but I cannot leave without telling you that I love you, wife. I’ll love you until I die, and I’ll kill the devil himself to come back to you.”

Biting her lip, Sansa swallowed hard, struggling to choke down a sob.

“I won’t be long, Sansa,” he went on. “I’ll find Jaime and come right back to you, I swear it. I’ll leave the service and you’ll never face such again.”

Sandor spoke promises that she doubted he could keep but it touched her just the same. Smiling softly, Sansa took his hand in her own and pressed it tightly against her heart. “You must be very careful, love. I’ll be praying for your safety and that of your men and women every day.” She took the red flannel pouch and placed the cord around his neck. “Wear this always, Sandor; promise me you will. It will keep you safe.”

Silently Sandor nodded his assent as he fingered the pouch, sniffing the contents as he did so. “Smells good, too. You wear yours as well, lass.” He motioned to her purse, and so Sansa handed him her pouch and allowed him to place it around her neck.

Grasping his other hand, Sansa laughed in spite of herself as she pressed it to her heart and added: “You must have faith in me, Sandor, and faith in my father’s words. If you do, then you will return to me safe and sound.”

“Aye, I do,” Sandor pulled her in close. “I believe in you, lass; I do. I swear it on every one of your gods.”

Just then Elder brother knocked on the door. “You only have another minute.”

Pursing his lips, Sandor pulled her close. “If you don't hear from me often, remember that you're in my thoughts, lass, always. A hound will die for you but never lie to you, and I swear I will return.”

Sobbing, Sansa eagerly pressed her mouth to his as Sandor enveloped her in his massive arms. She did not want him to die for her; she wanted him to spend his life with her, give her children, and she wanted him to grow old with her. Deepening the kiss, Sansa opened her lips to him, swirling her tongue over his own, moaning softly as she did so. Groaning, suddenly Sandor resolutely moved away from her, clenching his fists as he shuffled toward the door.

Even though Sansa had known this moment was coming (she had known it from the day he returned), still, she felt unprepared. Now the time for their parting was at hand, Sansa found she no longer had any strength in her limbs, no breath to speak her goodbyes or words of love, no air even to cry out his name.

“Take care of the place while I’m gone, lass.” Squeezing her close one last time, Sansa saw that a guilty demeanor blighted Sandor’s face as he settled her back on her feet and reached for the handle.

“I will,” Sansa managed through her tears. “I love you, Sandor.  Oh, look, I almost forgot. Here,” she took out her father’s ring on the chain. “This is your wedding ring. I-I was so overwhelmed during the ceremony and after that I forgot.” She sheepishly smiled at him in spite of her tears. “It belonged to my father. I-I put it on a chain in case it didn’t fit.”

Biting his lip, Sandor examined it carefully. “It’s a bit small, aye, but I’ll wear it around my neck.” He dipped his head so Sansa could slip it beneath the collar of his shirt. Carefully she kissed each of his cheeks and then his lips, after which she stepped back and offered him a tremulous smile.

“This isn’t goodbye, lass.” Sandor firmly rasped in her ear before lifting her in his arms and kissing her soundly. ”I love you. I’ll return quicker than you can shake a stick.” After he set her down, Sandor offered her one last smile, then turned away from her and groped for the door. Loras was the first person they both saw outside Elder brother’s quarters.

“Watch out for her, Loras. I’ll be home soon.” Sandor called over his shoulder as he pushed open the exit door.

“You got it.” Loras promised as he moved beside her.

Stepping forward, the Elder brother waved burning sage over Sandor’s person, and to Sansa’s surprise, he meekly submitted before placing the flannel pouch inside his dress shirt, patting it next to his heart.

Jennifer moved forward and said: “Live your life that the fear of death can never enter your heart. Seek to make your life long and of service to your people. Prepare a noble death song for the day when you go over the great divide. Show respect to all people, but grovel to none. When your time comes to die, sing your death song, and die like a hero going home, so spoke the great Chief Tecumseh.”

“Thank you.” Sandor growled low before casting one final glance toward Sansa.

Hopeful for one last look, Sansa followed behind him and watched Sandor’s form until he disappeared into the nearby hangar. Behind her she heard the footsteps of her friends, but her only focus was on her husband, who did not even glance at her as he disappeared from sight. Crumbling to the floor, Sansa could no longer hold in her emotions, and the young woman began sobbing in earnest as Loras and Margaery gathered her close. “He didn’t even look my way as he left the building.” She gasped out while desperately clutching her friends.

“Sandor knew you were there, but the man can’t bear to see your face as he leaves.” Loras said quietly.

Sharply Sansa raised her eyes to him. “But why?”

“Because despite everything, your husband blames himself for your misery,” Loras whispered in her ear. “Sandor wants to remember you happy, not grieving for him, and most importantly he doesn’t want you to see _him_ grieve, either.”

She had never thought of it that way, and Sansa at once felt guilty for not considering Sandor’s point of view.

“Fuck that evil Tywin Lannister for this.” Margaery seethed as she helped Sansa back through the halls of the base. “Who ever heard of interrupting someone’s wedding day for a mission?”

“Renly said he was a hard ass.” Loras shook his head. “He wasn’t kidding.”

“What goes around comes around. He’ll get what he has coming to him one of these days, mark my words.” Mrs. Olenna quietly predicted.

“Yes, ma’am, in our faith we call it karma.” Elder brother stepped forward and took Sansa’s hands in his own, indicating he was about to pray with her.

“In mine we call it comeuppance,” Mrs. Olenna cryptically commented. “Sansa honey, let the holy man pray over you, and then we’ll take you home.”

“Yes, I think that would help.” Sansa shakily replied as Elder brother led her to the chapel.

* * *

When Sansa returned to Sandor’s home, the space that only a few hours earlier had felt so warm and cozy now stood as a sad reminder that her husband was no longer with her. Margaery quietly carried in the wedding presents while Sansa changed out of Olenna’s wedding gown and slumped down on Sandor’s side of the bed. Lady, seemingly sensing Sansa’s distress, curled up beside her and rubbed her head on Sansa’s chin.

Sansa just wanted to be alone with her thoughts and for the day to be over. When Margaery finished, she settled down on the foot of the bed and patted Sansa’s legs. “I wish I knew what to say, Sansa. Just know that I’m here for you and so is Loras and that all of your friends love you.”

“Margaery, thank you,” Sansa whispered, tears filling her eyes at the familiar, masculine scent of her husband on the bedding.  “Thank you for everything. I love you too, but I just-I just need to be alone, okay?”

“Yeah sure, Sugar, okay.” Margaery got up and moved toward the living room as Sansa began crying harder still. Vaguely the new bride heard the screen door click behind her as her sobs continued unabated. All through the night, Sansa cried until she could not catch her breath, cried until she had no more tears left as she recalled everything that had happened since she first saw Sandor standing in the coffee house in his uniform, offering her his awkward grin as he gave his order.

The hopeful, gentle part of her heart had begun flowering that day, blooming alongside her burgeoning love for him. It whispered promises of deep love, commitment and possibility, of friendship and lifelong happiness. It was a fragile, delicate thing, this promise for the future, and yet it flourished during their brief time together, so much so that within a very short period of time, Sansa had been willing to say vows of forever to him. But today Sansa’s hopes had died when Sandor disappeared through those doors, and the young woman did not know if she had the strength to pull herself out of yet another disillusionment and period of mourning, if this was the one time she would be unable endure the loss of yet another loved one. She stayed in her contemplative state for the rest of the night, and all of Sunday as well.

 But as the first light of morning filtered into their bedroom, Sansa began to pray, and before long, the determined part within her, the Stark Wolf Spirit that lay sleeping inside the woman, awakened and began to make itself known in her mind as well as her heart. Soon the pain, the melancholy, and her inner despondency was replaced by the voice of her father within her.

Not for the first time she heard this inner voice, for it had been her constant companion after her parents died, reassuringly whispering that she would survive this just as she had the other miserable experiences of her life,  that she would emerge stronger than before and that her love for Sandor would only strengthen and mature during their separation.

Sansa believed her father was answering her prayers, empowering her, and slowly she emerged from her despair. Gradually, Sansa’s resolve intensified, the young woman determined not to allow their time apart to change her spirit nor color her memories of Sandor with heartache. No, she would think of  Sandor every moment of every day, she would welcome both the pain and the happiness, and she would cloak herself in his memory.

And Sansa would hope-hope for his safely, hope for his return, hope for their future. She would shroud herself with hope, wear it for the world to see, no matter how desperate times may become. And she have faith in his return just as her father instructed, and she would carry on.

With newfound conviction, Sansa determinedly rose the following morning, dressed, and prayed to the old gods and the new before she headed into the coffee shop.

When she walked in, Loras and Margaery exchanged glances with Mrs. Olenna, who sat working the crossword puzzle nearby. Raising her brow, Margaery then asked gently, “Sansa, are you sure you feel up to this? We didn’t expect you today.”

“Yes, I’m sure.” She shrugged off Margaery’s trepidation with a smile. At first the gesture felt unnatural but it began to feel more effortless as Sansa tied on her apron. “I just need to keep moving forward, Margaery. It’s the only way I know to get through it.”

Mrs. Olenna nodded approvingly. “The only way to handle these things is to push through them, Sansa.”

Loras leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. “Granny’s right, Sansa. We’re glad you’re here.”

Drawing a deep breath, Sansa swallowed down the catch in her throat, forced a smile once more and nodded before turning her attention toward her first customer of the day.


	18. Chapter 18

Occupied as she was with studying and work, Sansa’s days nevertheless went by painfully slow. Sandor was never far from her thoughts: she woke up expecting to see his muscular frame slumbering beside her, and every time the bell on the door chimed in the coffee shop, Sansa would inadvertently look up hoping he would walk in just as he did that day in September. Unfortunately, Sandor did not, and in his absence Sansa struggled to function within the deep haze of sadness that settled over her life.

She had not spoken to Sandor in so long that Sansa feared she would no longer remember the sound of his voice, and she would have given anything to hear his rasping voice once again, but, sadly, it was not to be. The last and only time Sansa heard from him was the day after the wedding when he called during a stopover at the Joint Base Myer-Henderson Hall. Apparently the general wanted to confer with Joffrey as well as Tyrion, both of whom were travelling to Arlington expressly for that purpose, and this gave Sandor the opportunity to call her.

Their conversation had been brief and mostly consisted of explanations as to why he would not be able to contact her once he left the United States, along with repeated admonitions for her to be careful. A deep sinking feeling emerged in the pit of her stomach at the mention of the names of her former fiancé and his uncle; he had avowed to her he would kill Joffrey, Meryn and anyone else who had hurt her, after all. Though she heard no discernable emotion in Sandor’s tone as he spoke, still, Sansa could not shake off the impending dread after their conversation. Her husband was a man of his word, and she knew somehow, somewhere, he would keep his grisly promise.

A week after their wedding, while Sansa was waiting tables at the coffee house, Margaery exclaimed, “Holy shit! Sansa, come here!”

“What is it? I’m busy.” Sansa sing-songed her words and offered a polite smile to her customer.

“That man of Joffrey’s that used to knock you around, what is his name?” She lowered her lips to Sansa’s ear.

“Meryn Trant. Why?” Sansa glanced between the siblings curiously as she moved beside Mrs. Olenna.

“Told you,” she hissed at Loras. “Anyway, he was found dead in Arlington Tuesday,” Margaery lowered her voice to a whisper. “It seems he went missing last Sunday.”

“Oh my god,” Sansa’s mind began to reel. “Joffrey and Tyrion went to see the general while they were laid over. Something must have happened then. Joffrey doesn’t go anywhere without his bodyguard!”

“Well, it’s time he learned how to do just that, because the police found the bastard not far from the base.” Mrs. Olenna laughed ruefully. “Apparently he had gone for a late night run and fell into a drainage ditch. His neck was broken.”

Her heart began racing. Margaery raised her brow at Sansa, studying her closely, but the young woman carefully schooled her face into a mildly interested expression. “Well, I can’t say I’m sorry to hear that.”

“You shouldn’t be sorry dear.” Mrs. Olenna admonished her. “I hope he burns in hell for what he did to you.”

“Grandma!” Loras and Margaery said in unison. “I thought it’s the Lord’s day. You just got back from church.” Loras needled her.

“The Lord sayeth that you reap what you sow,” Lady Olenna spoke pointedly. “And that man reaped what he did to Sansa; he got his comeuppance. Now the Lord will settle him down.”

“I thought God is love.” Margaery nudged her. “Anything else you might want to say about it, Sansa?”

Shrugging, Sansa turned away while struggling to still the trembling in her hands. “Well, I don’t know about hell, but it’s just like your grandma said: he got his comeuppance.”

“God is love, dear, but he can only be pushed so far, just like this old lady.” Olenna held out her cup for Sansa to refill. Loras and Margaery giggled.

“Did they close the investigation?”

“Yes,” Loras nodded. “They ruled it an accident. Joffrey is expected to make an announcement later.”

Turning away, Sansa went back to refill her coffee pot and left the rest of the theological discussion to the Tyrells. It was a regular family occurrence on Sundays, but Sansa did not have the heart for it just then.  The truth of the matter resounded plainly in her heart: Sandor had killed him, just as he said he would. The gods used him to get justice for her, of that she was certain, and no deity would punish him for it. In fact, Sansa felt nothing but relief, as though a great weight had been lifted from her. Only later did Sansa understand the weight that had been lifted was fear.

* * *

The local VA hospital accepted her application for internship earlier than she anticipated, and before long Sansa was working as a nurse’s assistant in the wound care ward, cleaning burns and injuries sustained far away, everything from concussion wounds from road side bombs to shrapnel, amputations and burns. The work was difficult, gruesome and tedious, but to Sansa’s great dismay, that was not the worst of it. Many of the men’s worst injuries were not physical but mental; and Sansa found the vacuous gazes of the young soldiers far more difficult to stomach than the sight of their physical wounds.

For this reason, Sansa spent a fair amount of time at the Shawnee sept praying with her friend Jennifer and making sacred bundles for Sandor. In the deepest recesses of her loneliness, Sansa’s faith in Sandor’s return would waver and so she sought solace and encouragement from the people. Every time she visited, the holy woman would bless her and provide reassurance that her husband would return safely, and Sansa felt better for it. She also visited Elder brother on a semi-weekly basis, and the therapy sessions helped her in more ways than she could have imagined: she slept better at night and the frequency of her anxiety attacks lessened as well. Talking about Sandor made her feel better too, and though the holy man revealed nothing confidential, it was nice learning more about her husband through the eyes of his friend.

Whenever Sansa felt she could endure no more, she reminded herself that working in the VA as a registered nurse would allow her to help other men just like her beloved husband, that she would understand him better for the experience, and with great determination Sansa continued her studies, rose to the head of her class and distinguished herself among the staff at the hospital as well.

Before long Halloween arrived. Loras and Margaery had implored her to come to their annual blowout, but Sansa chose to stay at home carving pumpkins and preparing the puree for pies. It was time to carry on an old Stark tradition, she decided, and so Sansa went about making huge batches of her mother’s handmade candies. As gifts for the neighborhood children, Sansa painstakingly wrapped large candy filled boxes and made sample trays to dole out on Halloween, just as her family had done at Winterfell.

To her surprise, at dusk a few children had already gathered outside the house, lurking in her bushes, waiting for dark. Seeing them all dressed up in costume made Sansa ache for the day when her and Sandor’s children would be the ones running around the place.

“Welcome, y’all, come on in.” When they hid, she added, “What are you children doing?” Smiling, she then waved them on to the porch. “Is this a local tradition?”

“No, we came to see the scary man,” one boy grinned.

“The monster with the scary face who jumps out of the bushes.” Another boy offered before he noticed Sansa’s cheerful expression quickly deteriorate into a saddened frown.

Even though she knew they meant no harm, her heart ached for Sandor at their innocent words. It was clear that in previous years he played along with them, but that was a common coping mechanism for those who have been bullied or viewed as outcasts. _How long has Sandor suffered being seen as a monster? How long has his burned face been used as a Halloween foil for the neighborhood children?_

She thought of her brother Bran, who had been paralyzed in a fall, and silently prayed he would be spared such indignity.

A little girl dressed as Elsa shook her head at the boys. “Forgive us, missus, we didn’t mean any harm.  Mister Clegane always gives us a good scare, jumping out from the bushes and growling and all, and has plenty of candy. He gives us the full sized ones, not the miniatures. Is he coming out?” She peeked hopefully around Sansa.

A deep ache settled in her chest as Sansa imagined her husband’s lifelong suffering. “No, he’s not. My husband Sandor isn’t a monster; he was burned as a child. It makes him special, not scary, and while it’s okay to play monster with him, I won’t have you calling him such.” She knew they didn’t mean to upset her but still, Sansa could not let it go. “He is a brave soldier, like GI Joe, and he is off serving our country as we speak.”

“Sorry ma’am.” The children muttered by turns.

“Okay then, all’s forgiven.” Sansa smiled and held out a tray to them. “You all come and get some candy now.”

“Is his feelings hurt, do ya think?” The smallest boy asked quietly as he debated over the tray, trying to pick the biggest piece.

“Well, I don’t know, he’s pretty thick-skinned,” Sansa knelt down to give him better access. “But if you had been burned, wouldn’t it bother you for people to call you scary?” She secretly pointed out the biggest candy to him.

“Yes, I would.” the boy nodded solemnly, though the candy restored his happy smile quickly enough. “I don’t like being called names on account of being little. We won’t call him scary no more.” The other children quickly agreed.

“Thank you,” Sansa smiled at each of them. Feeling a bit guilty for lecturing them on their holiday, she then invited them onto the porch. “I made special Clegane candies for you all. Wouldn’t you like to try some more, just to see if you like them?”

Beaming, the children eagerly sampled Sansa’s candies and happily took her individually wrapped packages.

“Do you miss Mister Clegane?” The little girl asked.

“Yes, very much,” Sansa choked back her tears and gave her another candy.

After that day, the children, sometimes bearing flowers pilfered from a nearby yard, would stop by and said hello to her on their way home from school. The children’s presence somehow soothed Sansa even as it increased her desire to have children of her own, and before long she was hosting her own games of hide and seek with them (complete with full sized candies), thus ingratiating herself with the neighborhood children just as Sandor had done before her.

It really didn’t take Sansa very long to feel comfortable in her new home (though not so much as when Sandor was there) but the place held so many good memories for her that the young woman preferred staying in and crafting to going out. Sansa excelled at knitting, and so she made throw blankets, socks, and scarves for both she and Sandor, all the while replaying their times together in her mind.

When she grew weary of that routine, Sansa went shopping for the items they would need such as extra blankets and sheets, a new duvet cover, new dishes, towels and anything else that struck her fancy. Loras and Margaery often accompanied her on this shopping trips, and though they pleaded with her to go out and get a social life, Sansa preferred readying her nest for Sandor’s arrival to attending concerts and movies.

When the late November rains began, the change in the weather brought a multitude of household disasters upon their home. The roof began leaking in the den and then the pipe in the bathroom wall burst and flooded the basement, requiring a host of expensive repairs. Fortunately, Sansa’s full inheritance had come into her possession on her twenty-first birthday and while meeting the cost of the repairs was not difficult, the stress of having their home under construction put yet another great strain on Sansa.

The outside of the house needed painting, and so Sansa meticulously studied colors with Loras until she found a match for the exterior. The bathroom needed rebuilding after the flooding, and she used the opportunity to have a large jetted tub installed where a small closet had been, along with another skylight in the ceiling. Since the basement was brick and empty, aside from a good drying out and a new washer and dryer, very little repairs needed to be made there.

Not wanting to make _too_ many changes while Sandor was gone lest she upset her new husband, Sansa vigilantly insisted that the materials and colors match the original work and then let Loras add a few decorative touches for good measure. The finished result was a very lovely, very warm and pleasant home, pleasing Sansa greatly and making her long all the more for her husband’s return.

The nights were the hardest for her, and many times Sansa cuddled his pillow, inhaling Sandor's lingering masculine scent and pretending he was beside her. Invariably she would cry then, cry until she was exhausted. When his masculine smell faded from the bedding, Sansa then took one of his shirts, dabbed his cologne on it and then put it over the pillow.

"Oh honey," Loras consoled her when he stopped by early one morning and caught her. Before Sansa could offer an excuse, he said, "I've done the same many times since Renly passed. You're grieving too, you know, so be gentle with yourself and do whatever you need to feel better." After that Sansa didn't feel so foolish about it.

* * *

On a late November morning, an orderly wheeled in a new patient for Sansa, a man with golden blond hair as bright as the sun. In fact, Sansa had never seen anyone with hair that color, and she tried hard not to stare at him. He was handsome, that much she could tell, even though he was very thin, dehydrated and his skin was covered in ulcers and bruises. Despite his serious condition, he still managed to wink his eye at her as she looked over his injuries.

Something about the man was familiar, though Sansa could not put her finger on it.  She studied him carefully, trying to place who the soldier reminded her of while Dr. Pycelle looked over his sores.

“Welcome, sir, I am Sansa, your wound care nurse.” Sansa extended her hand with a friendly smile. “I am here to assist Dr. Pycelle today.”

She started to look at his chart when the soldier raised the stump where his right hand had been. “You’ll forgive me, Miss, if I don’t reciprocate the pleasantries. Major Jaime Lannister at your service.”

Gasping, Sansa dropped the tray she was holding, spilling her supplies all over his lap. “Please forgive me, Major Lannister, I am merely surprised to see you here is all.” Fear and hope both swept over her at the sound of his name on her lips.

“You would be Sansa Clegane,” Jaime laughed wickedly, his deep green eyes twinkling in amusement despite his obvious discomfort. “Sandor said his wife was studying to be a wound care nurse. Forgive my forwardness, but what you lack in grace you make up for in prettiness. You’re every bit the beauty he described, a fete I believed no woman could accomplish after the way he carried on about you.”

Disregarding his complements, Sansa’s mind flooded with questions about Sandor, but the withering glare Dr. Pycelle gave Sansa said that she needed to focus on her professionalism. _Perhaps if I am extra kind to him, he will tell me news of Sandor._ “I was with Sandor when your wife called with the news of your capture. I prayed for you every day, and I am so relieved to see you are home safe at last.”

“Safe but not sound, Sansa.” He wryly remarked. “No more missions for me.”

Dr. Pycelle examined Jaime’s amputation, frowning at the infection he found there. “Nurse, I’m going to debride the wound. He has cellulitis and rapidly developing sepsis in his right arm.”

“Yes, doctor,” Sansa replied while readying the equipment. “Will you be needing a local anesthetic?”

“No,” Jaime insisted. “None of that for me.”

Swallowing hard, Sansa tried another approach. “You might consider it, sir, for it will go easier on you and lessen the time it takes the doctor to work.”

“No, I don’t want any more of that shit.” He shook his head resolutely as he turned away.

As the doctor began, Sansa tried to divert his attention from the pain. “I met your wife, Brienne. She is a lovely woman, truly, and so kind hearted, too.”

“Yes she is,” Jaime stared off for a moment as if lost in thought, then hissed in pain. “She’ll be home shortly.”

_Shortly-how soon was shortly? Did Brienne’s return mean that Sandor would be home soon as well?_

Fighting to control her emotions, Sansa smiled as she swabbed his skin. “I am so glad to hear that. I’ll be very happy to have her back here, too. We were just starting to get to know each other before she deployed. The last time I saw her, she was-“

“…at your wedding. She told me,” Jaime finished for her, the man sizing up her anxious expression as he spoke. “Clegane told me all about the ugly business you suffered with my family, Sansa, there’s no need to dance around it. It might surprise you to learn that I’ve no regard for my nephew and neither does Tyrion. I can only apologize for what they have put you and your family through.”

The color had drained from his face, but the way in which Jaime stared at her made Sansa wonder if he was indeed being sincere. After a few moments she concluded that he was being genuine, and so soberly Sansa nodded, after which the young woman allowed a small smile to light up her face.

Sighing in relief, Jaime mirrored her expression and let out a short laugh in response. “No more of such talk, then; do we have a deal?”

“Alright.” Sansa smiled, amazed that a grievously injured man who was undergoing a surgical procedure without anesthetic and almost too weak to talk still had so much mischief left in him. She so desperately wanted to ask about Sandor but another sharp glare from the doctor silenced her once more.

Jaime watched her closely as she wrapped the freshly debrided areas in clean bandages. “You must forgive me, Major Lannister. I am a student here and as you can imagine I have set all of my professionalism aside with you just now.”

Jaime shook his head. “Dr. Pycelle, you’re dismissed.”

“Major, I-“

“I wish to have a word with Sansa alone.” Jaime suddenly ordered in a surprisingly strong and authoritative voice.

“But Sir, I have am not finished-“

“That’s an order, Captain, unless you feel like getting busted down a few ranks,” he intoned, his green eyes sharpening narrowly at the man. After the doctor took his leave, Jaime turned his attention to her. “Now then, go ahead.”

Confused, Sansa shook her head. “Go ahead with what?”

“Go ahead and ask me about your husband. I know you’re dying to, and that old codger was the only reason you held back.” Jaime grinned at her.

“Please tell me: do you have news of Sandor?” Anxiously she stared into his eyes, waiting for what she did not know.

“He was wounded in the leg but he’ll be fine, Sansa,” Jaime spoke softly, and for the first time Sansa saw no sign of the mocking, jovial charmer within the soldier; just a very weak, very sad man. “He expressly requested that no one tell you.”

“Wounded? Oh good gods-how?” Sansa gasped out, suddenly clutching Jaime’s shoulder to steady herself. “Was he captured too? How did it happen?”

“Rescuing me, that’s how.” Jaime’s eyes clouded over at the admission, and then he hesitantly reached out and patted her with his good hand. “No one would take Sandor Clegane alive, Sansa, believe that.” He shook his head at the memory, as though he was replaying the scene over in his mind as he spoke. “He wasn’t captured but he sustained a flesh wound on his thigh. He’ll most likely walk with a limp, but he’s had worse. They sent him to Walter Reed until he can walk on his own. Should be in another week or so, judging by his determination to return to you.” He attempted a laugh to lighten the mood. “He’s got a few other issues, too, you know.”

“I know, sir,” Sansa whispered. “I know all about the PTSD.”

“He’s suffering, Sansa,” Jaime quickly raised his finger to his lips. “But don’t mention that here or to anyone else. They’ll keep him longer.”

“Well, maybe they should, if it is as serious as that,” Sansa weakly suggested, all the while inwardly she desperately tried to force down the images of the worst scenarios she could imagine. “We both know he needs the help.”

“The Elder brother is the only one who can help him, aside from you.” Jaime leaned in closer. “Sandor kept your amulets, you know, he wore them next to his heart despite the ribbing of the men. It was the worst fighting either of us has ever seen, Sansa and yet never once did he retreat, never once did he back down. It was his memory of you that kept him alive, kept him fighting-Sandor believed he would make it because you told him he would. Just be there for him, Sansa, and he’ll heal.” Turning away, he called, “Doctor, get your ass back in here and finish this mess. I don’t have all day.”

As the doctor finished up the procedure, the frail man turned back and smirked at her one last time before quietly fainting away from the pain. Pulling up a chair, Sansa sighed heavily, covered him with a blanket and then settled back in her seat, watching him sleep while she prayed to her father.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: this chapter includes the use of ableist and misogynistic slurs as well as verbal abuse. I have placed an asterisk (*) next to the paragraphs so that if you wish to avoid it, you can do so and still enjoy the rest of the fic. :D

Strong arms surrounded Sansa, pulling her tightly against the wall of muscle that was his chest. “Sansa,” Sandor’s deep Scottish brogue whispered into her ear. “Sansa, I’m home, lass. I’ll keep you safe. No one will hurt you again or I’ll kill them.”

“Sandor!” Sansa breathed out as she reached toward him. “I’ve missed you so.” Her arms wound around his neck as she pulled her husband closer still, resting her cheek on his chest, his warmth filling her heart and giving her a sense of wholeness. When Sansa raised her lips to his, though, she felt as though he were fading from her grasp, the man slipping through her hold.

Desperately the young woman cleaved to his arms, but to no avail; Sandor continued to fade away from her. “No, please don’t leave me, Sandor! I-I need you!”

Soft fur began rubbing against her chin, rousing her from her dreams. “Lady,” Sansa reluctantly opened her eyes to the wall of grey and white fur that settled heavily on her chest. “You want breakfast, I know, but I’m not ready to get up yet.”

Turning on her side, Sansa set the purring cat down and slowly stretched, reaching her arms toward Sandor’s empty side and absently patting the space beside her. “Come home to me soon, Sandor.” she whispered, wiping her dampened cheeks. “I cannot bear seeing you only in my dreams.”

In truth, this particular one had plagued her ever since she first treated Jaime at the veteran’s hospital. Concern for her husband’s condition had driven Sansa to distraction from that day forward-three weeks ago now-but still, no word from her husband.

 _Surely Sandor must be better by now. Jaime had said he was doing well-maybe infection set in_. For the life of her, she could not understand why Sandor hadn’t even called her. Was his PTSD so severe that he was unable to call her? And if so, why didn’t the doctors notify her? If Sandor requested them not to call her, though, Sansa knew they would honor the patient’s wishes.  Shakily Sansa sighed deeply as Elder brother taught her, trying to expel the tempest of anxiety gripping her mind.

Throughout the day, the dream continued to haunt Sansa, and so when she went to work later that day, she felt compelled to tell Jaime about the dream. He listened carefully but didn’t say very much as she worked.

She really didn’t expect him to comprehend the potential significance of the dreams she had, but still, she could not resist asking him just the same.

“Do you think he’s worse-is that why he still hasn’t come home?” She asked for what felt like the hundredth time even to Sansa.

“No, Sansa. Brienne called and told me he was fine-at least physically.” Jaime shifted uncomfortably. “He’s healing up, I mean. Try to relax.”

“How about the other, ahem, problem?”

Shrugging, Jaime pursed his lips.  “Hard to say.”

Frustrated by his lack of openness, Sansa turned the conversation onto Jaime. “I haven’t seen Brienne around the hospital. Is she home yet?”

Ducking his head, Jaime’s eyes fixed on the window in front of him. “No, but soon.”

“Sir, I’m-I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think to ask: was Brienne wounded in the fighting too?” Sansa forced the words out, the young woman feeling foolish for not inquiring about Brienne’s wellbeing sooner.

“Yes, she caught some debris in the face,” Jaime scratched his beard. “It was mostly superficial and she’s doing well.”

“Forgive me; I just assumed she was well since you said she was coming home soon.” Sansa placed her hand on his arm. Jaime glanced up at her as though he were trying to decide if he wanted to answer her. “Is she well?”

Patiently Sansa waited for him to open up while she continued treatment.

“She is, Sansa-in fact she’ll be home today.” Jaime finally muttered through gritted teeth when Sansa resumed rewrapping his wounds. “She’ll probably rest and come to see me tomorrow. At least, that’s what I told her to do.”

“Does she always do what you tell her?” Sansa teased lightly as she finished up, causing Jaime to laugh out loud.

“Hardly ever.” He admitted, his frankness earning a giggle from Sansa. “She’s got a big heart, though.”

“Well, Sandor cares for her, which says something in itself, doesn’t it?” She peeked at him out of the corner of her eye, a smile curling on her lips.

Laughingly Jaime nodded. “That it does. The Hound doesn’t show his feelings to just anyone.”

“She brought Sandor a meal, you know, on the first day he came home.” Sansa smiled at the memory as she tucked in his bandages. “Chicken and dumplings. It was delicious and she was so kind, too. I think I’ll stop by with something for her tomorrow.”

“She’d like that.” Jaime remained quiet, absently fingered his fastenings. “It’ll do her good, too.”

“Well, she’s been a good friend to both of us. I’ll be glad to go over and see her.”

“About Clegane, Sansa, I know it’s hard for you because you’re so newly married but it would be best to just let him be for a bit,” Jaime advised, the man’s tone tempered as he went on. “Before they transferred me here, the man was in the foulest mood I’ve ever seen him in. Sandor’s not ready to be home, to leave the war behind in his mind. Can you understand?”

“I don’t think it’s possible for me to understand, but I will try, for his sake and mine,” Sansa swallowed down her tears and waited for him to continue.

“I’ve been the same way. Even now, I’m struggling but...well, we all have our own way of dealing with it.” Jaime sullenly admitted. “Just give him his space.”

When Sansa knitted her brows at him, the man further explained: “All Sandor talked about was coming home to you, Sansa. It was all he thought about. He wrote you, while he was there, but he never sent the letters.”

“Why?”

“Because he didn’t want you to read them and hold on to hope and then if something happened…well, he just couldn’t bear the thought of it.” Leaning toward her, Jaime continued. “It isn’t because he doesn’t want to see you or talk to you, Sansa. If I know Sandor, he hasn’t called because his recovery is going slower than he thought and he just can’t bear your disappointment along with his own.”

“Well, then, why can’t I go to him?” Sansa angrily pouted through her tears. “I have the money for the trip. And I could care for him myself.”

Rubbing his head, Jaime shook his head. “He’s not ready yet.”

“Well, would you at least tell me why he wouldn’t want to see me?” Sansa impatiently demanded.

“A man has his pride, Sansa.” He answered simply. “Sometimes that’s all he has left after a war.”

Sadly she nodded.

“Will you let him come to you, then?”

Her heart ached at his words; knowing that Sandor was suffering and there was nothing she could do about it drove Sansa into even deeper despair. ““Yes. I will do as you say, sir. I-I’ve written letters to him every day since he left, too,” she stuttered out desperately. “Do you think I could at least send them to him? Just so he would have something to read while he recuperates?”

Sighing heavily, Jaime’s eyes softened somewhat as he regarded her. “Tell you what: bring them here to me in a sealed box ready to ship and I’ll send them to Clegane.”

Eagerly Sansa agreed. “Yes, that would be great! Oh, I’ll pack them up as soon as I get home.”  Blushing deeply, Sansa bit her lip to keep her further thoughts to herself: she had written plenty of embarrassingly personal, even _intimate_ things to her husband but as long as the box was sealed, she supposed it wouldn’t matter if she gave them to Sandor’s former commanding officer.

Grinning wickedly, Jaime watched her closely, the man’s brazen stare causing Sansa to redden further still. “Well? You want me to give them to him or not? I won’t read them.”

“Thank you so much for the kind offer.  I’ll bring them by later on, after my shift is over,” Sansa laughed and then glanced around her and leaned in closer to him. “I really do appreciate you doing this for me, sir, but it but maybe we should keep this between us. I don’t think Dr. Pycelle would like it if he saw me bringing a package to you.”

“Bugger him,” Jaime’s green eyes flashed angrily. “What does he know of husbands and wives? You bring whenever you like. I’m not going anywhere.”

Shaking her hair out of her eyes, Sansa started to giggle, the sound dissolving into a gasp as two visitors walked into the hospital room.

“Little brother,” Jaime called out at the sight of Tyrion waddling in with Joffrey in tow. “I didn’t think you’d travel so far to see me. Did Father send you?”

“No, I heard what happened and couldn’t wait for news. So, how goes it?” Tyrion eyed Jaime worriedly. “You look quite ill. We’ll have to get some of that good southern food to fatten you up.”

Glancing at Sansa, Jaime held up his amputation. “I am rather ill, little brother, but I’ll gladly take you up on the food offer. There’s a barbeque place around the corner that has the best ribs.”

Eyes widening, Tyrion turned toward her, his eyes roving over in an almost sad manner. “Miss Stark, what a pleasant surprise. How good it is to see you doing so well.”  

Joffrey snorted out a laugh, to which Jaime and Tyrion glared at him.

“Thank you, I am very well.” Averting her eyes, Sansa made herself busy by arranging her supplies. 

“I am certain you have no desire to see us, though.”

In spite of herself, after a while she nodded at him. “You speak truly, but I am not unhappy to see you, Mr. Tyrion. And you must believe I would never deny a patient access to their loved ones. As for my reaction, well, I was just surprised to see you here.”

After eying Joffrey warily, Tyrion forced a weak smile as he shifted on his feet.

“It was the least he could do, to come and see his older brother,” Jaime interjected, his terse laugh doing nothing to break the tension. “What news of Father?”

 ***** “He sent _me_ , Uncle, not the Imp, so you should address me with your questions.” Joffrey sneered at Sansa before Tyrion could reply. “I have a few of my own as well, since it seems this shitty hospital has assigned a head case to care for you." His eyes wandered over Sansa in a predatory manner. “Not so crazy after all, are you, my sweet former fiancé? You pulled a good one over us all.”

Setting her jaw, Sansa ignored him and pulled up a chair for Tyrion. “Mr. Tyrion, perhaps you would like to sit closer to your brother?” She studiously avoided Joffrey’s murderous gaze as she pulled up a step for him.

“Yes, thank you, Miss Stark.”  Tyrion glared at Joffrey as he settled into his seat. “Your kindness is more than I deserve.”

Raising his brow, Jaime leaned closer to his brother. “Sansa here is Miss Stark no longer, brother, for she is now Mrs. Sandor Clegane. Brienne attended the nuptuals.”

“Is that right?” Amusement lit up Tyrion’s eyes he glanced toward Joffrey, whose countenance paled at the news. “Interesting. Clegane is a most uncommon name-“

“Yes, that is true, and I am happy to confirm that your instincts are correct, Mr. Tyrion,” Sansa folded Jaime’s blankets carefully, smiling broadly as she spoke.  “Sandor Clegane and I were married last October and I am most happy with him.”

His face twisting into a furious scowl, Joffrey gaped at her, his face reddening in fury. Steadfastly Sansa refused to acknowledge his presence and calmly continued about her work, all the while praying to her father.

“Well, isn’t _that_ interesting?” Tyrion smiled broadly while raising his brow at Jaime. “Let me offer you my sincerest congratulations, my dear.” He held out his hand to her, which Sansa hesitantly accepted.

“It was a beautiful ceremony. Unfortunately your father interrupted us for the mission,” Sansa went on, “But I suppose it was most necessary.” She smiled at Jaime then, who caught her teasing manner and   winked at her. Her easy behavior enraged Joffrey further, for he paced the room like a caged animal but Sansa swallowed her fear, refusing to allow his presence to control her.

“Ah,” Tyrion nodded, “Well, Father was never one for sentimentality.”

“Is there anything else you need, Major Lannister?” Sansa smiled sweetly.

“No, I’m good, thanks,” Jaime snickered. “Unless you want to bring me some of those ribs.”

“I will bring them for you gladly when I return,” Sansa plumped his pillow one last time. “Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have other patients to attend.”

 ***** When she started to leave the room, Joffrey blocked her path. “And just where do you think _you’re_ going, you worthless bitch?” The young man screeched in fury, finding his voice at last. His face was blood red while his eyes gleamed with hatred as he jabbed his finger in her face.“You think you can just walk away from me with no explanation? Who the fuck do you think you’re playing with?”

Calmly Sansa stared levelly at him. “I owe you nothing. In fact, it is you who owes _me_ , for I have a restraining order against you and could have had you arrested the moment you walked in here. Step aside and let me pass or find yourself arrested, one; your choice.”

“You-you-“Joffrey seethed at the top of his voice.

“Come on, nephew, she’s right, you know,” Tyrion hustled him into the corner of the tiny room. “Leave the woman alone, for fuck’s sake-she’s caring for your Uncle Jaime, you know!”

 ***** “But she lied to us-she left me in King’s Landing, all the while acting batshit crazy-“

“Who can blame her-haven’t you tormented her enough?” Jaime growled low. “Just shut your stupid mouth for once in your life, will you? Let her pass.”

“Fuck off, the both of you!” Angrily Joffrey knocked over the tray of instruments onto the floor, the clamor bringing two MP s into the room. Inadvertently Sansa jumped at the noise.

“Is there a problem, Major?” The huge military policemen asked after cautiously surveying the room. “What happened here?”

The second officer, noticing Sansa's distress, asked: “Are you alright, ma’am?”

“Yes, thank you,” Sansa hurried toward the door beside the MPs, while Jaime glared at his nephew.

“There is no problem, is _there_ , nephew?”

Not waiting for Joffrey’s reply, Sansa left the room. Her actions seemingly setting the young man off further.

“Come back here!” He shouted after her.

 ***** “Sansa Stark, once Ned Stark's highborn daughter, is the Hound’s bitch now!” Joffrey hollered as she walked away from him. “How can you stand to look at his ugly face when he fucks you? You’ve made me laughingstock, you lying slut, you know that? Do you hear me?  So far you’ve kept your family hidden, but I’ll find them yet! You haven’t even begun to learn what I’m capable of, you little whore!”

Refusing to turn around, Sansa kept her pace while holding her head high. Behind her, she heard the MPs dragging him out of the hospital room as Joffrey continued screaming his threats. Darting into the lounge, Sansa hurriedly dialed Meera Reed, the officer who took the report when Joffrey assaulted her at school.

“Pick up, pick up…” Sansa whispered as she waited for her to answer the phone.

“This is Officer Reed,” Meera answered in a bored tone. “May I help you?”

“Officer Reed, this is Sansa Stark-Joffrey was just at my work and-“

“What is it, Sansa?”  Meera asked. “Please, I can’t understand you, you’re talking too fast. Take a deep breath and then tell me all about it.”

“Joffrey Baratheon is back.” Sansa spoke as she exhaled.

“Did he come to your school again?”

“No, he came to my work. His uncle was injured in the war, and he showed up while I was tending his uncle at the VA hospital. He was furious.”

“Did he threaten you?”

“Yes...” Sansa drew another deep breath before the words came spilling out of her. “He called me a bitch and a whore, and he said I humiliated him by getting married and blocked my way. He said he would find my family and then said I didn’t know what he was capable of. He was so loud the MPs came and took him out of the hospital screaming at the top of his lungs.”

“Good, that’s good that they came and it’s good they saw his behavior.” Meera replied, the young woman’s scribbling audible even through the phone. “That means the military police will write up a report on the incident, pass the report on to us, and will keep him barred from the hospital from now on. I’ll be by the hospital later for a copy.”

“Okay, I’ll tell the administrator to expect you,” Sansa’s voice trembled as she spoke. “I’m just glad I have that restraining order-“

“Sansa, listen to me now,” Meera interrupted. “I don’t mean to frighten you, but that order expired three months ago.”

“What?!” She shouted into the phone while a fresh wave of panic washed over her. “Oh my god! How can it just expire? It isn’t like he’s changed-he’s still dangerous and his behavior proves it!”

“I know, Sansa, and I’m sorry. That’s why I need a copy of the MP’s report of the incident today so we can start building a new case against him. Do you have any relatives that can you can stay with?”

Her mind flickered to her family, the remaining survivors were all in hiding, excepting Jon, and Sandor was in the hospital. “He doesn’t know where I live now, and besides, I have no intention of allowing him to chase me from my home. What am I going to do in the meantime?” Sansa’s stomach lurched as she spoke. “Maybe we can go to court today for a new restraining order?”

“Unfortunately Joffrey’s outburst today is not enough. You have to have another physical confrontation with the suspect or else we cannot petition for another restraining order.” Meera calmly explained. “His behavior has to prove he is a threat to your safety.”

Rolling her eyes, Sansa muttered irritably: “His past behavior isn’t enough?”

“No, Sansa, I’m sorry.”

“So let me get this straight,” Sansa spat out. “Until he hits me again or does far worse, I can’t have another restraining order.”

“That’s the law, Sansa. I admit it has yet to catch up with the needs of stalking and domestic violence victims.”

Angrily Sansa hung up the phone and slumped against the wall, rubbing her temples and praying to her father while she replayed Joffrey’s words over and over again in her mind.

 _At least he confirmed that despite their reach, the Lannisters haven’t been able to find my family._ Ever since her escape, Sansa’s worst fear was that Joffrey would discover their hiding places and kill her surviving siblings to punish her. It was the sole reason that, no matter how hard things became, Sansa refused to call them, refused to risk exposing them.

She wondered what they were doing now, if they were happy and doing well. The last she heard, Arya was with her boyfriend Gendry on the Lakota reservation in South Dakota, while Bran and Rickon were with their father’s Aleut friend Osha somewhere deep in the Alaskan wilderness. Even though Sansa missed them dearly, she was grateful that they stayed in their respective hideouts, well beyond the Lannister grasp.

Dr. Pycelle found her there in the lounge. “Ms. Clegane, are you quite alright?” 

“Yes-I’m just tired,” She wearily stood up, smoothing down the front of her uniform. “I’m sorry, doctor; I’ll get back to work now.”

“That won’t be necessary,” the man glared at her. “Major Lannister has ordered you to go home for the day.”

She should have known the Lannisters wouldn’t tolerate the MPs removing Joffrey. “Am I in trouble?” Sansa worriedly asked.

“No, quite the contrary: it seems you have unwittingly made a friend out of the major,” the doctor raised his brow. “He expressed concern over your wellbeing and he wishes you to get some rest. Pack your things; you have the rest of the day off.”

“Oh,” Sansa let out a relieved breath. “That is most kind of him. I’ll see you tomorrow, doctor.” Hurriedly she gathered her belongings and headed to the coffee shop.


	20. Chapter 20

Mrs. Olenna, Loras and Margaery listened carefully as Sansa related the incident with Joffrey. “He screamed at me, calling me names, threatening my family. Then the MPs had to throw him out.”

“Utterly disgraceful,” the old woman tisked, shaking her head. “In this day and age, the law has yet to mete out the appropriate punishment for abusers. In my day, it was the same. It was up to the family of the victim to dispense the appropriate punishment.”

Her voice turned cold in Sansa’s ears, causing her to turn and cast a puzzled look at Mrs. Olenna. Ignoring Sansa, she waved her finger at the range top. “Loras, dear, would you be so kind as to tend to the tea?”

“My father and brothers would never stand for this and neither would my sister Arya.” Sansa sighed shakily as she sat back in the window seat. “But I don’t have them close anymore and besides,  if Joffrey found them, he wouldn’t hesitate to hurt them.” She hugged herself tightly. _I wish Sandor was here._

“I promised Sandor I would look out for you, Sansa, and I mean to keep my word.” Loras handed her a cup of tea, distracting her from her thoughts. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

“Yeah, little brother, you don’t want to get on Sandor’s bad side,” Margaery giggled. Sansa took note that her usually melodious laugh now sounded grave and forced. “Believe me, if he were here, Joffrey would think twice before harassing Sansa.”

“He’ll think twice with _me_ here, or else learn better than to ignore me, one,” Loras insisted. “We’ll help you Sansa; no need to fret.”

“Thank you,” Sansa wiped her eyes. “I’m not certain what I should do, though. The law won’t allow me to get a restraining order unless he hurts me again. I can’t carry Sandor’s rifle with me everywhere. What am I going to do?”

Mrs. Olenna and Margaery exchanged glances. “Never you mind, child. You go on about your business and leave the worrying to us.”

“But he’s bound to show up here; it’s only a matter of time.” Sansa wrung her hands, trembling at the thought. “He’ll come here and raise a ruckus, mark my words.”

“If he does, we’ll take the proper steps to prevent him from returning.” Mrs. Olenna answered, calmly sipping her tea. “The Tyrell women have always taken care of their own and you are one of us now.”

While Sansa relaxed in the booth, Margaery regaled her with humorous stories of her exploits on the dating scene to cheer her up. Mrs. Olenna tended the customers while the two women spent the rest of the afternoon laughing, after which Loras offered to take her home.

“Jump on. I know you know how, I saw you get on Sandor’s bike easy enough.” Loras goaded her onto his motorcycle and despite her anxious mood, Sansa couldn’t help but laugh. Once Sansa was secured, Loras pulled away from the curb just in time to see Joffrey storm into the coffee house.

“Oh, Loras! That was Joffrey!” She spoke into his ear at the light. 

“The blond guy with the attitude?” He turned in his seat to face her.

“Yes, him! He just walked into the coffee house! We’d better go  back.”

“Nope, I’m not taking you anywhere near that guy.”

“What if he causes a problem for Margaery and your grandma?”

Loras sniffed and pulled over, then took out his cell phone and began texting. “I’ll give Marg a heads up but I wouldn’t worry too much-Gran and Margaery can handle themselves, trust me.” When Sansa continued to express concern, he tapped her chin with his finger. “Sansa, we can handle Joffrey for you, don’t you worry.”

Dejectedly she offered Loras a small smile. “Okay. I’m sorry, it isn’t that I don’t trust you-I just know what he is capable of and I can’t bear to see him hurt anyone else that I love.“

“You’re afraid,” Loras tipped her face up to him. “And you’ve seen what the Lannisters are capable of first hand-in fact you still aren’t over it. Am I right?”

With her eyes fixed on the ground, Sansa sheepishly nodded.

“No shame in it, Sansa-it’s perfectly understandable.” Loras shrugged and turned loose of her. “But we all love you and we’re not about to let him hurt you again. It’s time he learned he can’t go around bullying women.” He winked at her. “Now let’s get you home.”

* * *

After checking the locks on the windows and doors, Sansa removed Sandor’s rifle and several rounds of ammunition from the gun rack. It wasn’t that Sansa believed Joffrey would find her there, but experience taught her never to underestimate him. _I’ll rest easier if it is within reach, just in case_.

For a moment she considered calling Bronn, but ultimately decided against it. _I need to stand on my own two feet with that family_. Pushing her thoughts in a more pleasant direction, she then removed the decoupage box from under the bed and spent the next hour rereading the letters she had written Sandor, blushing and laughing, and then spritzing each note with perfume when she finished. After rummaging around for a while, Sansa found an old Amazon box in the garage and carefully packed everything inside and then sealed it with packing tape.

Yawning, she snuggled up with a blanket on the bed. The day had been both physically and emotionally exhausting and so the young woman decided she would lie down for a bit. As she was about to drift off, her eyes fell on the dresser where Sandor’s unloaded rifle lay. _Too far away_ , she ruefully realized, so she scooted it under the bed and then climbed under the covers once more.

Several hours later, the sound of her phone beeping awakened Sansa. Rubbing her eyes, she saw a text from Brienne.

  _Just came from visiting Jaime. Are you okay?_

_Yes, I’m fine. So glad you’re home!_

_Thanks. He said you were supposed to come by._

_Yes, I was, but I fell asleep. I’ll come by tomorrow. How are you?_

After a few moments, her phone beeped again. _Tired but it’s good to be home._

 _Want to come over?_ Sansa texted back.

 _Sure._ Brienne replied. _Be there in five._

Sansa ordered a pizza, garlic sourdough rolls and salad from a nearby family Italian place while she waited. Within a few moments, Brienne walked up smiling and waving as she peeked in the window.  One side of her face was indeed much scarred, leading Sansa to conclude that she would most likely be disfigured from her wounds for the rest of her life.

Steadying herself, Sansa opened the door for her and was surprised when Brienne pulled her into a tight embrace. “Sansa, how are you?” Carefully she studied her appearance, the woman picking up on Sansa’s distress. “Sandor has been very worried.”

 _Sandor is worried about me?_ Puzzled, Sansa pulled back to look into Brienne’s face, focusing on her cornflower blue eyes. “Really? Why?”

“Recently he’s had nightmares about you. He wouldn’t go into any kind of detail-you know how he is.” She watched Sansa pale and then moved to balance her on her feet. “Easy there. Are you sure you are okay?”

“Y-yes,” Sansa nodded, trying to laugh it off. “I’ve just had a somewhat eventful day.”

“Jaime told me about Joffrey,” Brienne shook her head. “What are you going to do?”

Uneasily Sansa’s eyes went to the rifle before she quickly darted them away, shrugging. “Nothing, I guess.”

Brienne followed her line of sight and swiftly she moved into the bedroom.

“You aren’t planning on taking this anywhere, are you?” Brienne raised her brow as she lifted the rifle and then carefully checked the chamber.                

“No, it’s Sandor’s,” Sansa was careful to hold Brienne’s gaze, knowing the woman was a detective and could spot the slightest attempt at deception. “I just keep it in there so I’ll feel safe enough to sleep alone in the house.”

Swallowing hard, Brienne let out a deep breath as she warily watched her. “I understand. You know how to use it?”

“Oh, yes,” Sansa eagerly nodded. “In the far north, we learn how to properly use firearms at a young age.  It can be dangerous, with the Alaskan brown bears and wolves and such roaming about.”

Silently the woman regarded Sansa, pursing her lips as she did so. “Well, it doesn’t hurt to do what you need to do to keep yourself safe. Jaime was worried about you, too. He told me how Joffrey lost it at the hospital and that the military police escorted him out.”

“Yes, he was acting just as he did the last time he came here,” Sansa’s hand unconsciously went to her right temple. “Right before he struck me.”

“He struck you?” Brienne’s eyes widened. “Did you call the police?”

“Yes, and he was arrested. I had a restraining order against him but it seems it expired three months ago.” Sansa absently wrung her hands as she spoke. “Now I have to wait for him to hurt me again before I can get another one issued.”

“Let me see what I can do for you,” Brienne spoke thoughtfully. “Who is the officer that took your report?”

“Officer Meera Reed.”

“Well, as you know, I’m a detective-meaning I outrank her. Perhaps I can look into the matter for you and see if something more can be done to expedite things.”

“Won’t that be a bit awkward with you and Jaime, considering he’s family and all?”

Brienne shook her head. “We aren’t blind to Joffrey’s nature, Sansa. Have you seen him since the initial incident?”

“Well, Joffrey already went to the coffee house looking for me but I missed him,” Sansa’s eyes turned downward. “Loras brought me home.”

A warm hand soothingly went around Sansa’s arm as Brienne stared into her eyes. “Family or no, I’m not going to let him hurt you, Sansa.”

Despondently Sansa nodded her thanks and then swiftly changed the subject. “How is Sandor? I mean, both physically and you know, the other.”

“Much improved,” Brienne cleared her throat in an attempt to hide a smile. “He’ll be coming home very soon.”

Just then there was a knock on the door, causing Sansa to jump before bursting into nervous laughter. “I ordered a pizza for us.” She explained when she saw Brienne’s confused expression.

The two women spent the rest of the evening trading stories and sharing a bottle of wine. Sansa told her all about her medical cases at the VA and Brienne in turn shared a few of her experiences in Afghanistan as well as many details about Sandor.

“You know, your husband is a very brave man, one of the bravest I have ever known,” Brienne spoke quietly. “Jaime was so weak, he couldn’t even walk. Sandor carried Jaime out of that cave,” her voice caught in her throat. “He carried him out, all the while he was fighting for the rest of us. He should receive a medal.”

Tearfully Sansa embraced her and the two women cried together, the one for having survived the experience that changed her family and the other for the pain her husband endured to save them. It was cathartic to both women, and afterward Sansa felt as though a great weight had been lifted from her. After Brienne left, Sansa said a prayer of thanks to her father, snuggled down in bed and peacefully slept the night through.

* * *

The next morning, Sansa dropped off the box along with the requested ribs with Jaime, and then went to the coffee house for the late morning shift.  Outside,   patrol cars, a fire truck and a paramedic vehicle idled while a large crowd milled about on the sidewalk. _Oh gods, what has Joffrey done?_ Frantically, Sansa pushed her way inside and hurried over to Margaery, who was flanked by four police officers.

“Oh gods, was there a fire?” She asked, though she could not smell smoke. Anxiously Sansa clutched Margaery’s shoulders. “Margaery, look at me.” The young woman dazedly turned and stared at her. “Margaery, answer me: is it Mrs. Olenna? Is she ill?”

“No, ma’am, Mrs. Tyrell is fine.” A handsome police officer spoke up. “She’s just in the back, the paramedics are treating her for chest pains.”

 _Loras! Oh gods, he said he would protect me. What if Joffrey has hurt him?_ Her heart racing, Sansa turned to see that out in back there were still more rescue personnel, though no one seemed to be in a hurry. “Margaery, talk to me! Is it Loras?”

“No, Loras is fine, Sansa-it’s Joffrey,” she finally managed, twisting her dish towel in her hands. “He was in here again this morning asking about you. He started in screaming and ranting again so Gran gave him a cup of coffee, you know, so he’d calm down. It worked yesterday, but today-“ Her voice faded.

“What happened?”

“At first he seemed better but then after a while he said he didn’t feel well.” She wiped the single tear inching down her face, all the while staring into the eyes of  the increasingly sympathetic officer. “All of a sudden, he-he started gasping for air and his legs just turned to jelly-and then his eyes…”

 _Gasping for air, loss of muscle control, pupils dilated…it could have been a drug overdose._ That didn’t really surprise Sansa, for Joffrey had been known to smoke marijuana and drop LSD with Meryn, and occasionally they even smoked heroine as well. _He was never as mean as when he did that_ , Sansa recalled, shivering at the memory. She would hide for hours in her room, under the bed, waiting…

 _Gods only knows what he had planned for me._ Reason shook her from her disturbing thoughts. _But he hasn’t even been in town very long; now that Meryn is dead, how did Joff even know where to find a drug dealer here?_ _This isn’t Los Angeles, after all…_

“Oh Sansa, it was just awful.” Margaery embraced her tightly. “I’m so glad you weren’t here to see it.”

Clearly enthralled, the officer stared at Margaery with all his might, only turning away when Margaery said Sansa’s name.

“Are you Sansa _Stark_? Of the Winterfell Starks?”

“Yes, I am Sansa Clegane, Stark as was,” Sansa confirmed calmly while smoothing down her skirts. “What can I do for you, officer?”

“I’m Officer Hugh Clifton.” The man jotted something down and then handed her his card. “I’ll need to talk to you after you’re done with your friend.”

“Certainly, officer.” Sansa agreed, a knot forming in her stomach as she spoke.

“Sansa, Joffrey-he-“ Margaery went on while dabbing her eyes. “He just fell over right out there, and-“

“Yes? And then what happened?” She shook her gently.  “Please, Margaery, tell me.”

“W-we ran outside after him. Loras offered to call his family but he wouldn’t hear of it, and then Gran insisted we call 911. He staggered further down the street and took no more than a few steps and then he just collapsed on the sidewalk.”

“Where is he now?” Sansa demanded carefully, gripping her friend’s arm tightly. “Margaery, where is Joffrey now?”

Outside she faintly heard the fire truck and paramedics pull away. _That’s not emergency protocol for an active case…_

“He was rushed to the hospital. Loras went in the ambulance with him.  They contacted Tyrion but the officer here-“ Margaery faintly offered a small smile at the young man, who was obviously, completely lost in her charms. “He just got the call. Joffrey didn’t make it.”

Tears continued to fall down Margaery’s cheeks, though Sansa noticed that her eyes bore no sign of sorrow. Curiously Sansa’s gaze darted toward the young officer, who slowly nodded, all the while the man was clearly oblivious to everything but her.

“Good gods, this is unbelievable.” Sansa shook her head and sunk down into a nearby chair.

Just then, Brienne strode in, flashing her gold shield to clear a path. “I’m Detective Brienne Lannister. I heard the call on the radio on my way in to work,” she announced to the patrolmen as she hurried toward them. “What happened?”

Turning away from Margaery, Officer Clifton squared his shoulders. “Ma’am, an out-of-towner, Joffrey Baratheon, died of an apparent overdose on the sidewalk outside.”

“Brienne, I’m so sorry for you and Jaime.” Sansa reached out to her. “You two have been through so much already-“

“We knew about his drug problem already, so this isn’t the surprise one would think it would be,” Brienne gently patted her arm. “Sansa, you’re pale. Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m just-I’m just in shock right now.” Sansa rubbed her forehead. _And also relieved_ , she added silently to herself. Understandingly Brienne nodded with a heavy sigh.

“I’ve yet to interview her, ma’am.” The officer added as he pulled out his pad.

“Then go ahead. I’ll observe.”

“So Ms. Clegane, you were once engaged to Joffrey?”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“Three years.” _Three years of hell._

“And you had a restraining order against him for domestic violence, is that right?”

“Yes, the judge granted it a little over a year ago, after he was arrested for hitting me.” Sansa answered rather sharply, casting a short glance at Brienne.

The officer nodded. “Was he known to have seizures? Allergies?”

“No seizures, at least not as of three years ago.” Sansa shrugged. “I don’t know about allergies.”

“Did he take medication?”

Sansa shook her head. “Not that I am aware of.”

Officer Clifton raised his brow at her.

“We never lived together as a couple and as I already said, we broke up three years ago.” Sansa explained irritably. “I’m sure a lot has changed since then.”

“I see,” he muttered. “Did he take any illegal drugs while you were together?”

“Yes,” Sansa confirmed, a queer numbness enveloping her as she recalled the goings on of the Red Mansion. “He smoked pot regularly and he also took LSD. And heroine on occasion. He smoked it.”

“How often, would you say?”

“I don’t know-once a week, maybe?” She searched her mind. “Whenever he was partying. He wasn’t exactly forthcoming about it. The dealer would stop by every Friday. As I said, it’s been a while since we were together.”

The officer nodded. “Did he have any contacts in town besides family?”

“I don’t know.” Sansa shrugged. “I’ve already told you three times that we haven’t been together in a long time.”

“It’s okay. We’ll do a tox screen on him, Ms. Clegane.”

Brienne cleared her throat. “It seems obvious this is an case of accidental overdose.” She handed the officer her card. “I am married to the deceased’s uncle. Call me when you’re finished with the investigation.”

“Yes, ma’am.  One more thing: we found a loaded gun on the body as well. It seems he had something planned.” He turned toward Sansa, who now shivered in fear. “Would you write down your name and address so I can contact you if I have any more questions?”

“Of course.” Sansa hurriedly scribbled down her information for him before Brienne led her to a nearby booth.

“How do you feel?” Brienne whispered.

“I don’t know how I feel or what to feel,” the young woman confided. “I’m just in shock. I feel-I feel like I dodged a bullet. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, it does.” Brienne sadly replied. “You’re going to be okay, Sansa.”

After Brienne left, the remaining police officers quickly dispersed as well.

“I’m fine, you buggering fools,” Mrs. Olenna came from the back, waving away the last paramedic.

“But ma’am, your heart palpitations-“

“My heart is palpitating because you’re pissing me off and your men have made a mess of my shop. I don’t need to go to the hospital, so shoo.” After he left, the old lady swiftly locked the doors and then put the “Closed” sign in the window.

Margaery came and stood beside Sansa as they watched the last of the patrol cars pull away.

“Margaery are you okay?” Sansa looked over her friend. “I’ve never seen you so upset. Let me get you some tea. You’ve had quite a trauma-“

Margaery’s demeanor transformed from grief stricken into a knowing smile as Sansa regarded her. She took Sansa by the hands and led her to the couch. Stunned, Sansa sat down beside her and watched as Margaery’s full mouth curved into a wicked grin. “I’ve never been better, Sansa.”

“Margaery, I know that look; what did you do?” Sansa whispered low.

Shrugging innocently, Margaery smiled at her grandmother, who plopped down between them.

“Aside from charming a young policemen,” Mrs. Olenna smiled and began playing with Sansa’s necklace. “Margaery didn’t do anything. Remember what I told you yesterday?”

“Yes: the Tyrell women take care of their own.”

“You’re damned straight we do.” Mrs. Olenna leaned forward. “An eye for an eye, Sansa. Your father was a good man. Trusting, too. Though the signs were all there, he never imagined that fool boy would turn into such a sadist and look what it cost him.”

Confused, Sansa continued to stare at her. “Yes, Robb and Mother and Father…”

“Yes, ended up dead. And do you know why? When Joffrey showed what kind of man he was, your father chose to give him the benefit of the doubt for the sake of his childhood friend. Well, we didn’t make that same mistake.” Raising her brows, Olenna leaned in closer still. “You don’t really think I would have let that _beast_ hurt you again, do you?”

Taken aback, Sansa scrutinized Olenna’s wizened expression and whispered:  “But Joffrey overdosed-“

Mrs. Olenna shook her head and dismissively waved her hand at her. “Don’t worry yourself about all _that,_ child.” She caressed Sansa’s cheek with an arthritic hand. “You’re safe now. You just do what needs to be _done_ , understand?”

Good gods, she had prayed to her father to protect her from Joffrey and this was the outcome _. He had a gun, who knows what Joffrey would have done if he had seen me this morning._ She sat in stunned silence, mulling over Olenna’s words. Gun or no, Sansa admitted to herself that if Joffrey had come into her home, Sansa would have shot him dead. She had already done what she could legally to protect herself, and yet the law had left her vulnerable; Joffrey had returned with a gun, and the Tyrells did what they had need to do in order to protect her.          

She had many questions, but the young woman figured it would be best not to think on it too hard. Trembling, Sansa smiled at Olenna and Margaery. “Yes I do. And…thank you. You saved me. I’m greatly relieved and not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“That’s a good girl.” Mrs. Olenna patted her head as she rose. “Now let’s speak no more of it, shall we? Margaery, come help me set the counters to right. Those fool officers made a mess and we needs clean everything, thoroughly. We should charge the both the police and fire department for the lost income.”

“Yes, Gran.” Tweaking Sansa’s chin, Margaery raised an eyebrow and grinned devilishly at her. “Loras told you to trust us, Sansa.”

“I know he did.” Sansa drew a deep breath. “And I’ll never doubt again. Let me help you two clean up.”


	21. Chapter 21

After Joffrey died, everything remained business as usual at The Daily Grind.  Since his death took place on the sidewalk, very little investigation went on inside the shop, and the coffee house was open for business the next day. No one spoke of it, not even when it was just the four of them; it was as though it never happened, as though Joffrey had never existed.

Once the initial shock wore off, a tremendous sense of disbelief came over Sansa. Dazed, she went home and spent hours staring at Sandor’s rifle, still trying to comprehend that Joffrey was truly out of her life forever. For perhaps the first time since she was betrothed to him, Sansa felt safe, truly safe, and the young woman didn’t know quite how to process the conflicting emotions within her, primarily focusing on the method in which she was liberated of him.

She was surprised to discover she wasn’t horrified by Mrs. Olenna’s actions, and that alone worried her. Was that what living with the Lannisters had done to her? But even as the thought came into her mind, Sansa knew that wasn’t true: Arya wouldn’t have cared, she knew that-in fact she would have killed him herself. But as a health care worker, she made a vow to herself to only help others. And even as she thought on that, Sansa also knew full well that if Sandor had been there, Joffrey would have been just as dead, and it would have been necessary for her to keep that quiet as well.

Besides, the truth of the matter was that everything within the law had been done and it still didn’t stop Joffrey-in fact, nothing short of death would stop him, which seemed to be a Lannister trait. He was cruel and abusive to every person Sansa had ever seen him interact with but nevertheless his mother and grandfather would stop at nothing to find out what happened, of that Sansa was certain.

The Lannisters had taken her from her family, her childhood home, and all that she loved in the north when she was very young; she knew full well what they were capable of doing and yet she would not let fear of them serve in Joffrey's stead. However cruel they were, their actions had also turned her from porcelain to ivory to steel and forged her into a strong, powerful woman. She was a Stark, wolf blooded as the people of the north called them, and she would be brave.

In her heart she knew the Tyrell’s way of handling the situation was the only way for her to be rid of him, that there truly was no other way of dealing with Joffrey, period.  Her husband killed to protect and defend others-was what the Tyrells did so very different? Perhaps in the eyes of the law, but certainly not in her eyes. She wished Sandor was there to talk with her about it. Exhaustion, worry and loneliness shrouded Sansa, so after she ate, she escaped into sleep, dreaming of Sandor and his return.

The dream felt so real that Sansa was disappointed when she woke up and discovered he was not beside her.  Later, the mailman brought a stack of letters to her, all from her beloved, and immediately the young bride snuggled up and read them with relish. Some of the notes were brief, some were long and singular with detailed descriptions; nearly all of them explicitly detailed exactly what Sandor planned on doing to her once he got home. A warmth spread throughout her entire body as she read them, making her long for Sandor’s return all the more.

Afterward, she went into work at the hospital and offered her condolences to Jaime while she treated his wounds. She wasn’t sorry Joffrey was gone, but Jaime and Brienne had been good to her and she didn’t wish any more misery upon them than they had already endured. To her surprise, the Major seemed indifferent to his nephew’s death, as was Tyrion Lannister, and they spoke no more of it after that day.

 A week later, Officer Clifton was all too happy to inform the Tyrells that the medical examiner’s report had come in and Joffrey’s death was officially ruled an accidental overdose. Relieved, Sansa finally let go of her reservations as he spoke:  Joffrey was gone, that was all that mattered, a punishment from the gods for his abuse at the hands of the Tyrells.

“That poor innocent boy,” Mrs. Olenna sadly commented as she filled the pastry display. “Such a waste of a young life.” Sansa, Loras and Margaery all nodded their agreement.

The Armani suit tapped his fingers on the counter loudly. “Red, bring me the usual, and make it quick.”

Hurriedly Sansa prepared his usual order while straining her ears to listen.

“It was strange, though,” Officer Clifton remarked even as Margaery suggestively brushed his hair out of his eyes. “In addition to heroin and marijuana, he had large amounts of oleander extract in his system.” His eyes fell on Sansa, who was wiping the table nearby. “Ms. Clegane, do you know anything about that?”

Behind his back, Margaery tugged at her top so the neckline would expose more of her ample cleavage, motioning for Sansa to flash a bit as well, but she shook her head at her friend. Armani Suit huffed impatiently as Sansa set down his order.

“That’s _Mrs. Clegane_ to you, young man,” Mrs. Olenna scolded, shaking her head at him while casting a suggestive look at her granddaughter. “Her husband is a highly decorated war veteran and I’ll not let you disrespect his wife.”

“No offense meant, ma’am,” the officer removed his hat.

Ignoring him, Sansa quickly rang up Armani Suit's purchase.

“Officer Clifton is from _Florida_ , Gran.” Margaery laughed.

“I don’t care if he’s from the moon, he will mind his manners in my shop or else leave.” She snapped her dishtowel sharply before folding it. “In _this_ part of the country we still call a married woman by her husband’s name. You would do well to remember it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the young man nodded eagerly.  “I beg your pardon. I meant no offense.”

“It is Sansa’s pardon you should ask, if you know what’s best for you. Her husband is a big fellow and a Master Sergeant besides. He’s not like to be as polite about you taking liberties with his wife as I am.”

Armani Suit turned and gaped at Sansa. “You _married_ that soldier?”

“Yes, I did.” Sansa primly smiled and smoothed down her apron.

“You better mind yourself, officer, he’s a rough one.” Armani Suit said as he swung open the door.

“Yes, you better mind your manners or I’ll take a switch to you!” Margaery teased as she heatedly sized him up and down. “You look like a naughty one. I can promise you my switchings are _nothing_ like the ones you received as a boy.” When the officer blushed, Margaery winked at him and added: “Who knows, you may even enjoy it.”

She had the police officer so tongue-tied that despite the tense situation, it was all Sansa could do to swallow her laughter.

Distractedly the officer cleared his throat before straightening up, the young man seeming to suddenly remember himself. “Would you happen to know anything about oleander extract, Mrs. Clegane?”

“I know nothing about oleander extract,” Sansa shrugged after a bit, the young woman carefully setting her expression into one of mock confusion. “Or any other extracts, for that matter. I don’t cook very much since my husband went on active duty. Is it used in baking?”  Behind her Sansa heard Margaery choke down a giggle.

“Not _hardly_ , darling.” Mrs. Olenna tisked lightly as she rolled her eyes and shook her head apologetically at the officer. “Oleander is very poisonous and you would be hard pressed to find its extract. You would never want to cook with it.” She shook her head once more. “Really Sansa, you must mind your wifely duties.”

“Oh, I had no idea it was dangerous! How foolish of me.” Carefully Sansa fixed her countenance into one of mild interest while she shook her head. “Forgive me, Mrs. Olenna, it’s just that it’s so plentiful around here. How can something so pretty be so deadly?” Sansa deftly handed Officer Clifton a bear claw pastry as she spoke with a winning smile. “It’s on the house.”

Grinning, the officer shrugged and took a big bite before offering a muffled: “Thank you”.

“Oleander is very lovely. It grows everywhere around here, too. It _is_ a wonder, isn’t it, child, that something so innocent and beautiful can also be so very deadly?” Mrs. Olenna demurred. “Loras, dear, where would someone even find oleander extract? Do the Indians have it?”

“No, Gran. Some of the local drug dealers make it. They cut their heroin with it so it will go further, you know.” Loras explained. “Renly used to see such poisonings a lot among the college students when he was on the force.”

“Very true.” Officer Clifton nodded. “We see it still. So, you have a friend that was a police officer?”

“My _husband_ was on the police force, yes. He was killed in Kandahar two years ago.” Loras ignored Officer Clifton’s shocked expression as he turned to go into the storage room.

“So, are you going to ask me out or not, Hugh?” Margaery glanced up through her lashes as she twirled a lock of the young officer’s hair in between her fingers. “I’ve been waiting for _ages_.”

With the officer preoccupied, Sansa took the opportunity to take her leave.

“Sansa, darling, your next shift is later today, remember?”

It was unlike Mrs. Olenna to check up on her work schedule; that was Margaery’s job, but Sansa didn’t mind it. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be back at 3 o’clock.”

“Good. Be a doll and wear your new dress, will you? Margaery described it to me and I’m just dying to see it.”

The day before, Margaery had insisted Sansa buy a new outfit complete with lingerie for Sandor’s return. After an epic day of shopping, they found a black chiffon dress and a set of garnet red lingerie that made Sansa blush just thinking about it. The outfit wasn’t really casual enough to wear to work but Sansa knew the old lady loved shopping and so she indulged her. “Yes, ma’am, certainly.” Sansa smiled politely at her as she left.

After two hours of studying for her nursing license, Sansa decided she would take a nap and then use her free time to take the opportunity to do a practice run of getting ready for Sandor. With great care she showered, groomed and styled her hair just as Loras had for her wedding day. Afterward she carefully applied cat’s eye eyeliner and then settled on a deep, almost burgundy shade of lipstick to match her lingerie.

When Sansa stepped away from the mirror, she was surprised by the elegant, sexy, refined woman staring back at her. “Sandor won’t even recognize me.” She said aloud to herself and then broke into a fit of giggles. Glancing at the clock, she saw she only had fifteen minutes before her shift started and so Sansa hastily put on her dress, garters and black seamed hosiery, then selected a very high pair of platform pumps before heading out the door.

Feeling the gaze of the customers on her, Sansa self-consciously tugged at the neckline of her dress as she walked into the coffee house.  Armani Suit was there again, gaping at her as she passed.

“Wow, what a knockout!” Loras wolf whistled her as she approached the counter, causing the customers to turn and stare at her.

A deep blush swept over her cheeks. “Really?” Sansa whispered as she turned for him to tie on her apron. “This is what I’m planning on wearing when Sandor returns home. Do you think he will like it?”

Smirking, Loras arched his brow and pointed toward the back. “Why don’t you ask him for yourself?”

Following his gesture, Sansa’s eyes fell on Sandor’s imposing form as he rose from his seat. Overwhelmed, she stared at her husband in disbelief as months of prayers, sadness and loneliness abruptly came to an end in an instant.

“Little bird,” she heard his deep voice rasp as he removed his beret. “I missed you, wife.” Sandor seemed uncomfortable, as though he didn’t know whether or not she would be angry that he didn’t come to her sooner, and the awkward way Sandor held out a bouquet of peonies and roses went straight to Sansa's heart.

Squealing, Sansa raced toward him, laughing and crying at the same time as emotion overwhelmed her. The corner of his mouth twitched sharply before a huge grin spread across his face as Sansa excitedly threw herself into his arms. “Sandor, oh my love, thank the gods you’re home!”

Muscular arms surrounded her, lifting her against him. Balancing her against his chest, Sandor’s fingers found their way into her hair. She felt him inhale a deep sigh as he buried his face in her neck. “Little bird, my beautiful wife, I 'm sorry I've been away so long.” Gently Sandor then held her face, his deep gray eyes boring into her own heatedly while he traced his thumb over her lips lightly as though he was trying to determine if she was, in fact, really there with him.

“My beloved husband, you’ve returned to me safe and sound at last, that is all that matters to me.” Laughing softly, Sansa cupped his cheek in return to reassure him, the small gesture seeming to break something loose in the man, for Sandor then pressed his mouth to hers and kissed her soundly, oblivious to the spectators gawking at them.

Letting out a small cry of surprise, Sansa clutched his shoulders and pulled him closer still, opening her mouth to him, reveling in his touch, his taste and the feel of his hardened muscles surrounding her. She felt his tongue swirl around hers and Sansa matched his movements. Time seemed to stand still for the couple before Sandor moaned into the kiss and then abruptly lifted her into his arms.

“Let’s get out of here.” He growled low, placing one arm under her thighs while the other cradled her small waist. “I owe you a wedding night, remember?” Sandor kissed her once more before carrying her out of the shop. On the street people whistled, laughed and clapped for them _. Let them stare. Let them see that he is mine and that I am his._

“I remember.” Giggling, she kissed along Sandor’s neck and cheek and every available piece of flesh as he settled her into the truck.

Once inside, Sandor held her face determinedly, the intensity shimmering in his eyes nearly stealing Sansa's breath away as she tearfully returned his gaze. “I’ll never leave you again, Sansa, I swear it on our marriage and on every one of the bloody gods.” He kissed her softly then, staring deeply into her eyes. “Never again will anything part us, you have my word. From now on, it’s just me and you. Do you believe me?”

“I do, Sandor.” Sansa whispered against his lips.


	22. Chapter 22

On the drive home, there were so many things Sansa wanted to say to Sandor, so much she wanted to share with him. But the excitement of the situation went to her head, it seemed to her, for all she could manage was to smile and cling to him, the young woman overwhelmed by the thrill of having her husband finally home at last.

She slid over on the bench seat next to him until their legs touched, the move bringing a rumbling laugh from him as he wrapped one arm around her while the other managed the wheel. As Sandor drove, Sansa took the opportunity to study him closely. Despite all he had been through, he was even more muscular and intimidating than the last time she saw him. Though not as long as when they first met, his black hair had grown in, much to her delight. Sandor's complexion was deeply tanned while his deep grey eyes stood in shimmering contrast to his skin. After a few awkward glances out of the corner of his eye, Sandor turned to her questioningly.

“You look so handsome, Sandor, truly.” Sansa beamed up at him by way of explanation. Raising a brow, he studied her for a moment, then broke into a grin at her girlish enthusiasm.

“And you’re even prettier than your picture, lass, and a sight to soothe sore eyes like mine.” A sudden seriousness clouded his eyes as Sandor leaned over and kissed her soundly when they stopped at the light.

“The gods gave you the battle and your mission was a success,” Sansa softly commented. “Jaime should make a full recovery.”

“Aye but an empty victory it was…” Sandor clenched his jaw tightly, his words at once confusing Sansa. “Missing you hurt more than anything, believe that, and not worth any price.”

“I missed you too, Sandor, more than I thought possible.” Sadly Sansa clutched his arm with both hands, hugging him to her chest and pulling him closer. “The entire time you were gone, I planned for this day, Sandor. I prayed for it. I even bought this outfit just for you.” Self-consciously she smoothed down her dress and arranged her skirt and then glanced up at him, waiting for his approval.

Sandor laughed knowingly, his eyes softening as he looked her over once more. “I know, lass. I felt you there…with me. I did some planning myself, you know.”

Her curiosity piqued, Sansa leaned in closer. “I wanted to surprise you, and when I called to ask about your next shift, Mrs. Tyrell told me you’d been out shopping. That’s why she put the bug in your ear to dress up today.”

“So that’s what that was about!” Gasping, Sansa shook her head and then burst out laughing. “I should have known something was up. I’m so gullible!”

“No, little bird, just innocent is all.” Sandor caressed her blushing cheek thoughtfully. “You are beautiful, lass, as is your dress, but I look forward to getting you out of it.”

“I look forward to that, too,” Blushingly she stared at her feet. “I have missed-well, I missed our _intimacy_ ever so much.”

“As have I. I dreamed of having you in my bed every night.” Leaning over, Sandor gently kissed her neck, inhaling deeply and nuzzling her there. For once Sansa was grateful for lengthy small town traffic signals as she reveled in the feel of him.

“How is your injury, Sandor?” Sansa asked quietly, the young woman unable to refrain from asking one minute longer. “Jaime said it wasn’t too serious and you look so well that I’m inclined to believe him.”

“The lion’s got the right of it. Almost all healed,” she heard her husband mutter in between kisses, the feel of his mouth swiftly chasing the rest of her questions from her mind. “Stitches are out. I can put my weight on it and bath proper, but I probably will have a limp from now on.”

Gently Sandor embraced her once again, the man seemingly content just to hold her until the car behind them began honking. Sandor said no more about his wound, physical or otherwise, and Sansa, remembering Jaime’s advice, didn’t pry.

When they pulled in front of the house, Sandor immediately began looking the place over. “Looks like you’ve been a busy little bird,” he smiled approvingly while fingering the blue star flag hanging from the freshly painted door post.

“I-I hoped you would like it.” Sansa’s eyes demurely fell to her feet, the new bride suddenly feeling shy in her husband’s presence now that they were finally together, at home. _He must be wondering why I changed so many things…I hope he isn’t mad._

“Everything seemed to fall apart around the place after you left.” Sansa commented, then inwardly cursed her clumsy attempt at explanation. “The roof leaked into the den and the pipe broke in the bathroom wall.”

Gritting his teeth, Sandor stuffed his hands in his pockets and shook his head as he eyed the new gutters. “Isn’t that the way it always happens? Everything’s fine until I leave and then all hell breaks loose.” He turned to her then, his eyes silently asking for more details as he moved beside her.

“I know, right?” Sansa nervously wrung her hands, wondering if Loras had told her husband about Joffrey as well; biting her tongue, she decided she would shelve that conversation for later. “But it was okay. I have some money saved from the trust my parents left for me, so I went ahead and had the repairs done. I-I tried to keep everything similar to the way it was when you left.”

“This is your home too, wife, and I’m glad you handled everything for me while I was gone.” The feel of his large warm hand caressing her cheek urged Sansa to raise her eyes to his gaze. “You did good, little bird. The place looks fine, real fine. Next week I’ll pass the receipts to the insurance company so you’ll be reimbursed.”

“Really?” Sansa wasn’t expecting that. “We’ll be able to take a nice honeymoon based on what I spent.”

“Sounds good. Wherever you want to go, little bird, you just name the place and we’ll go.” Sandor rasped low as he took her by the hand and led her into the house. Flushed, she nodded excitedly at him. Maybe they could go to Disneyworld, or Switzerland, or maybe Paris.

Tugging at her hand lightly, Sandor chuckled. “Show me the rest.”

Eagerly Sansa showed Sandor the den and then led him into the remodeled bathroom. Silently he took everything in, and once again Sansa wondered if he was angry. “Sorry, but I had to get rid of the closet to accommodate our new tub.”

A small smile quirked the corner of Sandor’s lips as he eyed her hungrily. “Nice. Big enough for two.” He grinned wickedly at her. He was so big he seemed to take up the entire room. Leaning in, he brushed her hair out of her eyes. “You got designs on me, little bird?”

“Yes,” Sansa’s cheeks reddened further at her admission. It was overwhelming, to have him so close after the eternity she spent hoping and praying for his return. Being close to him had made Sansa feverish with want, and the young woman wondered if he felt the same. “That was the idea,” Sansa reluctantly turned away from his intense regard. “I took measurements based on your clothing to make sure you would fit.”

His eyes darkened as Sandor held his hand out to her and then leaned down and turned on the faucet. “Come now, let’s break it in, then.” She could feel Sandor’s gaze as though it was a physical caress but she kept her eyes lowered while a shiver of anticipation went through her. 

 _What would he say if I told him I wanted him here, now_? _Do I dare be so forward with him?_ Once more Sandor’s hand lightly caressed her face along her jawline, stirring her from her thoughts and so shyly she smiled, her cheeks flushing heatedly as she glanced up at him through lowered lashes. “I-I would like that very much.”

“There it is,” Sandor crowed as he cupped her face, running the pads of his thumbs over her cheeks. “I’ve missed your sweet blushing, wife. You’re shaking, too. Frightened of me now, are you?” He moved his hands to her waist, tracing his thumbs there while he waited for her to speak.

The feel of his large warm hands sent a rush of desire through her. Biting her lip, Sansa finally shook her head. “No, I’m just feeling a bit shy is all. It’s silly, I know. I don’t know why I should be thus, other than-“

Trembling, her words trailed off as Sandor pulled her close. She melted into his embrace.

“Other than what?” Sandor leaned in, his words whispered against her mouth yet he did not kiss her, which frustrated Sansa to no end. Trying to calm her breathing, Sansa could feel that her face was flushed hot from the sudden rush of lust Sandor was eliciting from her, causing her body to veritably beg for his touch. Breathless with anticipation, it took her a moment to form her thoughts into words.

“Other than it feels like the first time to me, you know.”

Sandor quirked an eyebrow at her questioningly.

“It feels like it’s the first time that we  _spend the night_ together.”

Grinning, he nodded as his eyes fell to her lips.

“And I want you, Sandor, so very badly.” Shaking, Sansa blushed crimson. “I-I love you and I have ached for you since the day you left.” Standing on her toes, she pressed her mouth against his and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Immediately Sandor gathered her into his arms and began heatedly kissing her, his lips traveling down her jawline to the expanse of her throat and then to the bodice of her dress. The feel of his hardened muscular chest pressed tightly against Sansa’s body brought a gasp from her lips. Deliberately she swiveled her hips against him, the movement earning a guttural moan from her husband’s throat.

Sansa wanted him desperately, wanted to be joined to him in body as well as heart but she also didn’t want Sandor to think her too desperate or impatient. Slowly, Sansa drew a deep breath as she ran her hands down to his lapels and grasped at his uniform. Tenderly, Sandor grazed his mouth against her own, his tongue stroking her lips, urging her to follow his lead. Sansa shyly parted her lips to touch her tongue to his own and Sandor groaned in approval, the man trembling as he tightened his arms around her waist. She wanted more of him, so much more, and desperately wanted to feel his skin against her own but she did not know how to let him know it.

When Sandor finally slipped his tongue into her mouth, Sansa welcomed him with an urgency and passion that surprised her. Hurriedly her fingers fell to the buttons of his shirt and deftly she undid them until he pulled away.

“I love you, Sansa. More than anything or anyone. I’ll never leave you again.” Sandor finally spoke, resting his head against her forehead. “I have so much to make up to you.” Sansa moved to cup his cheek and he swallowed hard, as though he was trying to gain the mastery over his emotions.

Finally his lip curled into a wicked grin as Sandor took in her figure. “You look good enough to eat in that dress.”

“I hoped you would like it. I planned the whole outfit just for you.” Laughing low, Sansa moved away, batted her eyes at him and spinning around on her heels deliberately, giving Sandor the opportunity to take in her look.

His gaze lowered from her face to slowly drink in the rest of her body, his eyes trailing over her curves and down to her seamed stockings and heels, whistling low as he did so. “A delicious little bird you are in that getup.” He rubbed his hands over her hips and whispered into her ear. ”Now let’s get you out of it.” It was as if he read her mind. She felt him tugging on the zipper with a delicacy that surprised her while the feel of his hot breath on her neck sent pleasurable shivers up Sansa’s spine.

The warmth from his body heated her blood; they were so close and yet still not close enough for Sansa. She longed to tear his clothes off of him and let him have his way with her, but Sandor’s movements were so tender and wonderful that Sansa was determined she would not let her overwhelming desire for him break the spell.

She could feel her husband’s heart beating hard in his chest against her back, just as it did the first night they spent together. It flashed into Sansa’s mind that, in many ways, this was a first for the both of them; it would be their first lovemaking as husband and wife, their first night together, Sandor’s first evening home from the war, the first day of their future as husband and wife. The verity of the situation seemed inflected in each touch, each caress and Sansa was determined they would enjoy every moment.

Sighing, Sansa relaxed in Sandor’s arms, leaning into him while his tongue traced small circles over her pulse point. One hand pushed the dress off of her shoulders and the other at her waist kept her from moving away from him. Before Sansa knew it, she was standing in front of Sandor in only her bra, panties, garters and hose, her dress now pooled around her ankles.

Sandor struggled to control his breathing as his eyes roamed over her heatedly. “You’re fucking perfect. Mayhap we’ll wait until after for the bath.” He growled suggestively into her ear while he traced his fingers over her breasts. Sandor turned off the water and then set about unhooking her bra and letting it slide down her shoulders before he continued on down her stomach, tracing his index finger over her slit outside of her panties while he waited for her acquiescence to continue.

The heat between her legs was aching and throbbing, and Sansa could tell by the heated look on Sandor’s face that he found her undergarments were soaked with the wetness of her desire. “Everything about you feels so good Sandor.”

Turning to face him, Sansa moaned and wrapped her arms around his neck, kicking off her underwear as she did so, and Sandor growled as they thrust their hips hard against each other, their bodies settling into a languorous rhythm while their mouths hungrily sought out the other in a desperate need to get closer. “Sandor…please…I need you…” She gasped between kisses.

Reluctantly Sandor pulled away and began undressing. Dazedly her eyes fell to his manhood, which was heavy and swollen with desire and leaking a clear fluid from the tip. After shedding his clothing, Sandor easily lifted her into his arms and grasped her bottom with both hands as Sansa wrapped her legs around his waist. The ache between her legs had become unbearable, and eagerly she matched his pace as Sandor continued grinding into her while muttering words of love into her neck. Moaning, she threw her head back and found her release while crying out his name.

“Gods but you’re soaked for me.” Growling out a slew of low curses, Sandor then set her down on her feet, dropping to his knees. She held his head as he began pressing his mouth against her belly, kissing her, clinging to her while he rested his face there. A choking noise came from Sandor's throat, and Sansa felt hot tears wet her skin. Tenderly she ran her fingers through his hair, remaining silent while she waited as Sandor struggled to regain his composure.

After a few moments, Sandor seemingly gathered himself. Abruptly he stood, lifted her into his arms and then pressed her against the wall, rubbing his hardened manhood hotly against her woman’s place.

The pressure of his cock massaging her clit brought another hot wave of lust to her belly. “Sandor, please, I need you…” Shamelessly Sansa wriggled and arched her back and cried out his name as she felt another flood of wetness soak them both. “I can’t wait, Sandor! Take me, please…” She practically begged, and though she had never been less ladylike, Sansa didn’t care one wit; all she wanted was her husband.

“Such an eager little bird you are,” Sandor delightedly murmured against her skin as he carried her toward their bed, her legs still wrapped tightly around him. “I’ll give you what you need, wife.”

Without any hesitation Sandor settled her onto the bed and lowered his hips, and suddenly Sansa felt his hot, hard cock sliding along the folds of her aching slit before he entered her with one swift upward thrust, pulling an unrestrained cry of pleasure from Sansa’s throat. Her nails raked down his back while she grasped him for purchase as he began thrusting into her.

Sansa’s passionate response to him seemed to shatter Sandor’s restraint, and he slammed into her again and again, groaning and crying out her name with each thrust. Her head lolling back, Sansa wrapped her legs around him tightly so she could buck her hips hard and take him in as deeply as possible.  It felt so good, better than anything she had ever felt in her life, and Sansa writhed and cried out with abandon along with Sandor as their bodies set into a heated rhythm. His hands roamed over every inch of her as he loved her, the feeling of his warm skin sliding against her own setting her own passion ablaze.

Sandor's whole body trembled and he quickened his thrusts, driving himself into her faster and faster, all the while her husband panted into her ear that he loved her, that he wanted her to sing for him as he loved her, and sing for him she did. Waves of passion radiated from deep within her and swelled until Sansa thought she couldn’t take it anymore, and she cried out his name again and again as she shook with her release, arching her back and calling his name, her breathing coming fast and voice hoarse from her love cries.

“Sansa… Sansa, my love, my wife, oh gods...” Sandor cried out her name desperately, his release coming upon him so fiercely he shouted and then buried his face in the crook of her neck and whispered that he loved her, his manhood pulsing his seed inside her.

Cradling him against her breast, Sansa softly murmured his name and stroked his hair after Sandor collapsed on top of her, the wetness of his tears showering her body. “I’ll not leave you again,” Sandor whispered against her skin. “Never. I swear it on every one of the gods that neither you nor I will pay so high a price again.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The medications listed here are very complex and must not be used without a doctor's close supervision. Please do not consider my mentioning them by name as a recommendation for treatment for PTSD-only a licensed professional can advise on treatment.
> 
> This has been one of my favorite fics to write, you guys have made it so much fun and really inspired me! I know many would like to see it continue on, but I have more fics in my head than time to write, and this felt like the right time to end this story. Thank you to everyone who has read and commented on this story :D

Afterward Sandor didn’t immediately withdraw from her. He clung to Sansa instead with a quiet desperation while his tears flowed freely. Though it pained her to see him thus, Sansa felt a bit relieved, for she knew it wasn’t healthy for Sandor to hold in his emotions with the stringent reserve to which he was accustomed.

Not knowing what else to do, Sansa continued stroking Sandor’s hair until she felt him relax in her arms, until his tears eventually subsided and his breathing slowed in time with her own. Then he began to kiss her, lightly at first and then gradually more passionately until Sansa felt him harden inside her once more.

Sighing softly, Sansa let out a low mewling sound, giving herself over to the pleasure of feeling him inside her as Sandor positioned her in his lap and began rolling his hips. He held her gaze the second time he loved her, his movements measured and deliberate and so tender that tears filled Sansa’s eyes. It was so very intimate that Sansa felt as though she could see into his soul; and though it was as intense a feeling as she had ever known, she couldn’t look away, didn’t want to look away from Sandor.

“It’s alright, love, we’re together now,” Sandor whispered softly as he languidly moved within her.  “And we have the rest of our lives ahead of us.” Through her haze of desire, the only response she could give was to nod and tighten her arms around him while her pleasure steadily climbed and eventually crested with his movements. Her release left Sansa with a deep abiding satisfaction that transcended the physical. Sandor must have felt it as well, for he followed soon after, emptying himself into her with a long moan before he gathered her close to his chest and cradled her in his arms protectively.

Satiated, Sansa happily snuggled against him, leisurely running her fingers through the black hair on his chest. Sandor, however, remained restless, the muscles in his chest and arms tense under her hands despite her gentle ministrations.

“I should have come to you earlier,” Sandor brokenly rasped, breaking the silence. His words were tinged with bitterness. “Fuck me, I should have pulled my shit together and come to you.”

Frowning, Sansa tipped his face up to her own and stared into his eyes questioningly, wondering if Sandor had, in fact, heard about Joffrey’s return. She didn’t imagine Loras would keep it a secret from him but neither did she expect him to call her husband while he was convalescing. _Perhaps it wasn’t Loras who alerted him; Jaime or Brienne were also distinct possibilities_. Briefly Sansa wondered what he would think of the way the Tyrells handled him, but she remained silent, instead allowing him to lead the conversation.

“You could have been hurt. You needed me and I wasn’t here.”

 “No, Sandor, no; you mustn’t say such things. You did what you needed to do to heal,” Sansa tenderly caressed his cheek while keeping her voice calm and even, “you don’t get to be sorry about that.”

Shifting, Sandor averted his eyes. “You were right, little bird, about the bad dreams, the flashbacks. It was worse, much worse, going back the second time.” He fidgeted with the blanket, absently pulling on the fringe. “I-I bloody well don’t know how to tell you this, but the doctors, well, they had to…”

“They had to _what_?” Alarmed, Sansa raised up to look at him. “What did the doctors need to do? Please tell me, love.” When still Sandor hesitated, she added, “I love you, Sandor. No matter what you tell me, I promise I won’t judge you. I just want to know that you’re getting the help you need.”

“The doctors had to…medicate me for it, when I first came to the hospital for the wound in my leg.” Abruptly he sat on the edge of the bed, facing away from her. “Truth is, the MP’s had to hold me down. Took six men to do it.”

Sansa could see he had both hands clenched into tight fists, which he squeezed and released while his back muscles constricted with tension. He was waiting for her response, Sansa understood, and she desperately wanted to reassure him.

Crawling up behind him, she settled back on her knees and wrapped her arms around his middle, pressing her nude body against his own. Her garters and hose were the only things she still had on, but Sansa pushed aside her bashfulness, rested her cheek on Sandor’s neck as she whispered: “Well, I’m glad they gave you something to help. Do you feel like it’s working?”

His leg was still bandaged, and the nurse in her was dying to know which medications her husband was given but Sansa held back, though concern gripped her chest so tightly she could scarcely take a breath.

“Aye, some.” Sandor curtly allowed, rubbing his hand over his face before he turned toward her. “Ask me. You know you want to.”

“Okay.” Sansa soothingly massaged her hands in a rhythmic motion over his shoulders and down his bare chest. “What are they giving you?”

“Risperidone and Lithium,” Sandor sighed heavily, as though sharing this information with her lifted a great weight from him. “There was no other way to control the nightmares, or the flashbacks.”

Hearing that he was being treated with two such powerful drugs brought a deep sadness to her heart, though Sansa could not deny it was also accompanied by a great sense of relief. “At least outwardly, the medications seem to have helped you, Sandor, for you look much more relaxed.” She smiled at him over his shoulder, nuzzled into his neck and then kissed his cheek. “And so well rested, too. I’ve not seen you this way since we first met.”

Absently Sandor leaned into her attentions and rubbed his thigh. “I sleep through the night now and I don’t dive under furniture every time I hear a helicopter anymore.” He smirked self-consciously then. “But I’ll have to continue taking them a while under Elder brother’s care. And I’ll need to go counselling, too.”

“We can go together, if you like.” Sansa breathed into his ear, hoping her husband would go along with it. “You have my full support, my love, you know that.”

To her surprise, Sandor nodded and patted the arm around his waist. “Aye. I want you by my side, lass. I…I need you.” Sheepishly he tried to hide his face, but Sansa leaned forward just in time to see a small smile curl onto his lips.

Hearing her husband admit (albeit tersely) that he both wanted and needed her with him made Sansa’s heart soar. “I’ll arrange my work schedule tomorrow, then.”

Unable to contain herself, Sansa bounced on the bed behind him until Sandor turned around and gathered her onto his lap. “Happy to go see the Hound finally tamed, are you?”

“No, Sandor, you misunderstand me.” Sansa brushed his hair from his eyes. “You’ve sacrificed so much for others that it makes me very happy to see you put yourself first for once. I’m so happy to be the one you want by your side while you do it, too.”

After he studied her closely, his eyes once more heatedly roamed over her body while his fingers gently traced over her curves. “Enough with this, now. I’m not finished enjoying my wife. Let’s go break in that new tub.”

Lifting her into his arms, Sandor then carried his giggling bride into the bathroom and settled her down on the edge of the tub. Jumping up, Sansa yowled as the chill of the porcelain met her flesh, bringing a sharp laugh from her husband as he turned on the faucet. They leisurely nipped and kissed one another while they waited for it to fill. Even though she was somewhat sensitive as well as satisfied from their passionate lovemaking, feeling Sandor’s large warm hands slowly caressing her skin sent another pang of lust throughout Sansa’s body.

Deliberately Sandor moved away and knelt before her, running his hands over the silken material of her stockings. “You look so hot wearing these and nothing else,” he rasped while grinning wickedly at her. “Might be you should do it more often.” Carefully he unclasped her garters and rolled down her stockings one at a time.

“Maybe I will,” she daringly whispered, her words at once drawing a hearty laugh from him. It made her self-conscious to have Sandor hungrily staring up at her from in between her thighs as though she were his prey, with her most private place exposed to him in the bright light of day. Gently Sandor placed small kisses on the inside of her thighs as he exposed more skin, first on her right leg and then her left before he removed her stockings completely. Flustered, Sansa could only smile at him, all the while a deep blush spread from her cheeks down to her chest. To her great embarrassment, she began panting  in a most unladylike manner as he kissed his way up toward the apex of her thighs.

“Hmm you look good enough to eat. I want a taste of my sweet wife,” Sandor growled against her skin his fingers lightly pressed against her folds, opening her to him while he began kissing her intimately.

Sansa had never felt anything so good, of that she was certain, but in the back of her mind it occurred to her that they had not bathed since their last lovemaking. Would it offend Sandor, or even matter to him? It didn’t seem to, but she was nevertheless scandalized by the thought. When Sansa opened her mouth to speak, though, she was only able to utter a long moan as Sandor’s tongue finally traced over her woman’s place.

“So sweet and tender and wet for me. Gods…” he groaned before dipping his tongue inside her slit while his fingers circled her clit.

The feeling was so exquisite that Sansa moaned and arched her back deeply against the tile, the coldness of the surface all but forgotten. Sandor continued touching and tasting her, until suddenly a flush of warmth spread all throughout her body as she found her release. Chuckling, Sandor continued licking and flicking his tongue against her until her breathing slowed and her entire body relaxed.

Dazedly Sansa sat up and noticed he had not been satisfied. “Let me,” she whispered against his stomach before she kissed and tongued the head of his cock. Staring up at him, Sansa then drew the entirety of his hardened, thick shaft into her mouth while she tried to recall Margaery’s lewd yet extremely helpful directions on the technique men found most pleasing.

“Good gods, little bird,” Sandor groaned, his whole body trembling as he did so. She held the base of him firmly and bobbed her head up and down his cock, sucking deeply and flicking him with her tongue as he had done to her, all the while gently caressing his testicles. His hands found their way into her hair, caressed her head and face as he panted and thrust into her mouth and cried out her name. Sansa loved having him at her mercy, loved pleasing him, loved giving him pleasure in this most intimate way and she could not take her eyes off of him.

“Sansa, stop: I’m coming,” he moaned low, his entire body tensing as he spoke. “I don’t-“

Ignoring his warning, she kept on working him, kissing and suckling his member until Sandor thrust his hips, plunging deeper into her mouth, his powerful orgasm wracking his body while she sucked hard on him one last time and then swallowed. Gasping for air, he leaned against the wall of the bathroom, laughing softly. “Seven hells, where did you learn such?” He gasped out while helping her to her feet.

“Margaery told me how to please you.” Sansa answered matter-of-factly while dabbing her mouth with a hand towel just as ladylike as if she had just finished a fine meal. “I guess this means I was a quick study.”

“Bloody hells,” Sandor rasped as lifted her into the tub, his eyes twinkling as he regarded her. “You are a woman of many surprises, wife. Never stop being so spirited.”

Smiling, Sansa liberally sprinkled dried lavender and sage into the steaming water. “To wash away the bad,” she explained. “And make way for the good. You know, while you were gone,  it occurred to me that there are great deal many things that you and I don’t know about each other.”

“Like what?” Sandor turned on the jets and settled Sansa against his chest while the bubbles filled the tub.

“Well, I don’t know your favorite colors.” Sansa looked up at him.

He chuckled darkly. “Black and yellow. Yours?”

“I like all shades of pink and red,” she glanced up at him, waiting for his reaction. “But fuchsia is my favorite.”

“I figured as much,” he grinned at her, the movement twisting the burned side of his face. “What’s your favorite food?”

“Um, lemoncakes,” Sansa answered. “Yours?”

“Chicken fried steak.” He growled out a sigh as though he could taste the very dish of which he spoke just by mentioning it by name.

“Really?” Sansa clasped her hands together excitedly. “I know how to make that. We’ll have it for supper tomorrow: what say you?”

“Sounds good.” Sandor smiled once more while tracing the back of his index finger over her cheek. It came into Sansa’s mind that this was one of the few times his smile reached his eyes, for the normally storminess in his gaze had been replaced by a certain unnamable lightness, and their usual deep grey color correspondingly lightened as well. “What else do you want to know about me, wife, while you have me all sudsy and naked?”

Blushing, Sansa lowered her eyes. “Do you want children?”

“Aye, a whole passel, but not for a while yet.” Sandor soothingly ran his hands over her skin as he spoke. “Do you?”

Quietly Sansa nodded, though inwardly she thrilled at this information.

Sandor had a faraway look in his eye, as though he was trying to picture their future offspring in his mind’s eye. “We need to learn how to be together first, I think. Maybe in a few years or so, we can try,” he nodded thoughtfully, “or maybe more; we’ll see how the therapy with Elder brother works out for us. What do you think?”

“That suits me fine.” Sansa contentedly snuggled against him. She, too, wanted to establish her career before they started a family, and she certainly wanted to work out all of their issues first as well, so her husband’s words pleased her greatly.

Sandor pulled her back flush against his chest before snaking his hand up to her neck, turning her face toward him. His voice lowered as he spoke: “I k _now_ about Joffrey, Sansa.”

Her face fell then, for all her previous happiness melted away at the mention of her former fiancé. “The way you spoke after our lovemaking made me fear that you did.” Anxiously Sansa tried to shift away from him, but Sandor held onto her gently but firmly.

“And why should you fear such?” Sandor pointedly asked her, his eyes staring at her with an intensity that made Sansa squirm. “Tell me truly.”

Drawing a deep breath, Sansa whispered, “I feared telling you because of the way you’ve always said you would kill anyone who hurt me. You’ve always had so much anger in you just simmering under the surface ever since I’ve known you that I had no doubt in my mind that you would make good on your words and…” She stopped abruptly, the young woman losing her thought while trying to gauge his reaction. Sandor merely continued to stare at her with the same calm expression in his eyes, so she continued: “I was frightened more for you than for myself.”

When she glanced back up at him, Sansa saw that Sandor’s entire face had softened at her words. “Little bird,” he rasped into her neck, kissing her there. “I never meant to scare you.”

“But you did,” Sansa went on. “And I didn’t want you to end up in jail.”

He raised his brow. “And what makes you think I would end up in jail?” Sandor chuckled. “Traveling around the world has taught me a thing or two, Sansa, believe that.”

She did believe it, and it made her all the gladder that Sandor had been gone when Joffrey decided to show up. Her curiosity got the better of her. “Who told you?”

“Loras, of course,” Sandor began soaping up her back, the gentleness of his touch belying the hard truth behind his words. “As well he should have. I’m your husband, by god. I told him to look after you while I was gone and he did just that.”

Her mind suddenly began spinning. _The oleander was cut into the heroin Joffrey took. Heroin comes from poppies, and poppies come from Afghanistan_. Sitting up, she turned to face him. ”Yes, I remember what you told him. Did you _aid_ him in any way?” She raised her brows at him.

“Might be,” Sandor shrugged. “Could be.”

The realization and magnitude of Sandor’s actions took her breath away. _So he kept his word after all; Sandor did protect me-even from far away, he protected me._

“But Loras and Mrs. Olenna never mentioned you…”

“They wouldn’t. They are good friends to you and I, and people who don’t forget a kindness, lass.”

 _They did it for me, and also for Sandor because he stood up for Loras at Renly’s funeral even though it cost him his rank._ Sansa turned to encircle her arms around him, pressing her body against his in a tight embrace and whispered as her tears began to fall: “Thank you, my love. You saved me. Even from far away, you kept me safe.”

“On our first date, I swore to you that I would keep you safe, that there wasn’t anything I wouldn‘t do to keep you safe, remember?” Rhythmically he rubbed her back as he waited for her reply.

Too moved to speak, Sansa wordless nodded into the cradle of his neck.

 “A Hound will die for you, but never lie to you. You keep this between us, now.” Sandor rasped into her ear while running his hands over her shoulders soothingly. “We’ll not speak of it anymore. Swear it.”

“I swear it.” She kissed his cheek and rested against this shoulder with a sigh.

She was safe at last, Sandor was home and safe, and Joffrey was gone just as her father promised. No longer would they need to wait for one another, for they had their whole lives ahead of them now, and the future was theirs at last.


End file.
